No Leaf Clover
by CanisLupusHorribilis
Summary: Chris and others search for the ever elusive four leaf clover, now that their enemy is gone. But to get to that clover, they have to make it past the ever present no leaf clover first. Pairings and other info inside. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

No Leaf Clover

Disclaimer: If I owned Resident Evil and Metallica, I could die happy. But I don't. So, I won't die happy.

A/N: Set almost immediately after Resident Evil 5. Does contain slight spoilers (such as what happened to Jill and Wesker.) Main pairing, like all my fics, is Leon/Ada. At the moment, I'm tied between putting Chris and Jill together or Chris and Sheva together. (Readers can choose, I guess.) Rated M for violence, sexual themes, and language. Genres include horror, action/adventure, romance, and maybe a little mystery. Updates will be kinda slow, since the chapters are long and I have another story I'm working on. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from the Metallica song No Leaf Clover and are just there for fun.

_And it feels right this time,  
__On this crash course we're the big time.  
__Pay no mind to the distant thunder,  
__Beauty fills his head with wonder, boy._

---Washington D.C., March 7th 2008---

"You have to make them believe. Make them feel like their country's going to continue going strong. Make them believe that their country won't be affected by the bug, even if it does hit every other country," his wife ordered softly as she straightened his tie. "That's what they want to hear and what the _others_ want you to say."

"So, you all want me to lie to them again?" he asked bitterly, shaking his arms to let the jacket sleeves slide further down and successfully covered his wrists. Several Secret Service agents stood around him, their ears not listening to the conversation and their eyes pointed forward. They were trained to never listen to him. They were just bodyguards, after all.

His wife started to say something when a strict voice from their right ordered, "You're needed, Mr. President." He sighed and walked out from behind the huge limo and walked to the stage. The people who spotted him instantly started cheering, causing everyone else to do such as well. He ignored this screaming however, until he stood on the stage that stood sheltered by houses that basically formed a wall around the area where they all now stood. Standing at the podium in the center of the stage was one of his officials, who was speaking to the crowd about something.

The roar of the crowd was all encompassing, making him more uneasy than he usually was in this type of thing. He typically didn't have to lie about such a huge thing, like the one he was going to, either. But ignorant to his uneasiness, hands waved excitedly; mothers and fathers offered him massive, excited smiles. Young children stared at him, wife-eyed and amazed. He doubted they were any happier about this situation than he was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!" a thundering voice called. Swallowing thickly, he walked up to the now vacant podium and offered the crowd a wide, confident grin. The crowd roared again before falling into a respectful silence.

"Thank you for the warm greeting," he said pleasantly, smiling down at the crowd. His eyes flickered over the happy faces, an eerie sense of dread rushing over him suddenly. Although he had the perfect voice for it, public speaking never sat well with him. Did people realize how dangerous these things were? Huge crowds were just huge targets. "You all came here today hoping to hear that bioterrorism is finally gone," he boomed, his calm voice echoing off of the nearby buildings and meeting his ears again unexpectedly. "And that's _exactly_ what you'll hear," he finished, making sure to emphasize exactly.

The crowd broke into a hearty roar, hands smacking together in applause and mouths gaping open in mindless hoots and hollers. Looking down at the people, a smile still plastered on his face, he realized how ridiculous crowds looked. The audience slowly calmed and quieted down.

"Yes, my fellow Americans," They loved it when he used that line, "No longer do we have bioterrorism to fear. The mastermind behind it all has finally been stopped. Permanently." A gasp rippled through the crowd and he expected to turn and see one of the Secret Service agents holding up a sign that ordered 'Gasp.' "After a while, all of the lesser terrorists will be brought to justice and we can all return to living happy, unafraid lives."

The people before him instantly started smacking their hands together and opening their mouths. They reminded him of the performing seals he'd taken his daughter to when she was a child. At least the seals got something for their performance.

"Thanks to actions taken by brave civilians, Terra-Save, the B.S.A.A., and even the Secret Service, our lovely country and the rest of the world will be safe once again," he finished, making sure he looked as confident as he sounded. And as he spit out those final words, he felt as if a massive weight had been removed from his chest.

---En route to Anchorage, Alaska March 7th 2008---

The train's horn blared once, twice, three times before its passenger lifted his head and looked around groggily. He was incredibly drunk, having passed out in the bar and left alone since nobody wanted to try and lift his incredible mass from the booth he'd chosen to sleep in. Or at least that's what he guessed was what had happened. He supposed he could be completely wrong. But upon looking around the bar and noticing that there wasn't a living soul in sight he guessed he was rather correct.

"Fuck, my head," he mumbled, his voice laden with a thick slur caused by shots of whiskey and a six pack of beer. His eyes were bloodshot, dark crimson veins causing a spider web-like look in the whites of his eyes. His skin was a milky color, having rarely seen the sun when it was at its strongest. His body had a gelatinous look to it, his midsection wiggling and bounding as he stood from his booth and used his legs to stand.

The bar was very eerie, having gone from a once brightly colored scene with active people and smiling faces to a dully colored emptiness. He couldn't even hear any music coming from the tiny speakers but he supposed that was what happened when everybody left and he was the only one still around.

He forced himself to start walking, wanting to crawl into his comfy, first class bed and go to sleep. His fancy dress shoes, pure leather with rubbed soles that cost over 200 dollars, hit the carpet with dull thuds until it crunched something. He cringed, fearing for his poor shoes, and pulled his foot back. But instead of finding glass like he'd expected, he found an odd white thing. He stared at it, willing his blurred vision to steady and calm. When it finally decided to, he realized what he was looking at. A tooth. A human tooth.

"What the-" he whimpered, stumbling backwards. The heel of his left shoe crunched something else and he looked down at the carpet again. A set of glasses, their rims having been crushed prior to him stepping on them. He looked around his feet and noticed something odd about the carpet. When he'd first gone to the bar to get wasted drunk, the carpet had been a clean white color. Now though…

"Fuck me," he hissed. The carpet was splotched with massive crimson splashes. And from the tooth and the glasses, he was guessing this was no painting accident. And there was way too much of the crimson to be something caused by a simple fist fight or even somebody getting shot. He'd seen that kind of stuff enough times in the hospital he'd been chief at to know that people didn't have enough blood in their body to basically paint the entire barroom carpet.

He gagged suddenly, the alcohol and a sudden sobriety mashing in his body. One section of him wanted to stay drunk and think of all of this as a hallucination while the other section wanted him to step back into reality and realize what he was walking through.

A scream pierced the air and tore his attention from his thoughts. The loud sound seemed to reverberate through the train, bouncing off the walls and splintering the silence while pounding at his already throbbing temples. It was not a happy scream. And it wasn't really a scream of shock or even fright. It was a scream that one expected to hear escaping the throat of somebody being killed.

He stumbled away from where he guessed the scream was coming from in an attempt to avoid whatever was making the person scream. That's when the already dull, or dead, lights in the barroom shut off and plunged him into empty darkness. His imagination, even with his brain weighed down with liquor, immediately started forming pale ghosts with chains and monsters with gaping mouths and endless rows of teeth.

"Nothing's there," he breathed, his voice high pitched like he'd just been kicked in a rather uncomfortable place. He felt his skin prickle and tingle as his hair stood up and sweat slid slowly down his brow. He felt like he was about to vomit in fear.

The train was still moving, that much was obvious from the way the train twitched and jerked as it crossed over the icy terrain it had crossed a thousand times. But for some unknown reason, unless the owners of the train liked to keep drunks in the dark, there were no windows in the bar and he couldn't tell if it was light or dark out. Without any lights, he couldn't see his watch and his cell phone was tucked deep in his room.

As the train jerked slightly, he realized he was silently praying that somebody was driving the vehicle. Of course somebody was driving. Trains had to have drivers. He knew that from all of the movies he'd watched over his lifetime. But nowadays with technology making it possible for airplanes to fly themselves, he guessed an autopilot system on a train wasn't that foolish a thought.

"They don't have autopilot," he assured himself, one of his oddly clammy hands reaching up and brushing over his brow. He felt detached from his body, like everything was just hanging off of his skeleton and his nerves had stopped working. He felt weighed down and overly heavy and that worried him for some reason.

An odd sound filled the bar suddenly, almost a drawn out exhale. It was raspy, sort of the sound one would expect to hear from somebody who was having breathing problems. He tensed up, wondering if somebody else was in the bar with him. He could imagine someone, _something_, walking around the room and searching for him. That raspy breathing noise filled the room again, making him swallow thickly. The sound stopped as soon as he did such, almost like a dog snapping to attention over a cracking branch. The dark got all that much scarier.

Without waiting to see who, _what_, was making the noise, he sprinted towards where he believed the door he'd once walked through to be. His hands groped the air before him blindly, meeting the cool wall with a slapping sound. He scraped his hands over the wall and fell the crack between the wall and the door, where light might've once shown through. Without the use of his eyes, he let his hand drop and grab at the door handle. A swift twist later, he was stumbling out of the bar and into a bright hallway. Daylight spilled in through the windows but he dared not stop and think. The _thing _was obviously going to follow him. He sprinted down the hall.

A piercing cry followed him and something smacked into the wall right behind him with a comical whacking noise. He ran through the once pristine halls, now turned crimson with blood and gore that he didn't bother to look at. Luckily, the bar was part of the last car of the train. He quickly spotted the door that led onto the balcony-like thing that sat on the outside of the train, where the gunman would sit in old westerns. He smashed through the flimsy door, using his bulk to break through, and found himself unable to stop. But he didn't really want to. He would rather fall out of a moving train than face whatever was following him.

He smashed through the weak rail, the metal bending and giving way under his weight, and he tumbled off of the train. The huge vehicle immediately pulled away from him, which left an odd feeling building in his brain. But then all that existed was the white ice reaching up for him. Then, he hit the ice covered ground and everything turned black.

---New York City, New York March 8th 2008---

He stood on an upraised platform that basically served as his stage, making him the center of attention. His hands rested on a small podium before him, where several written reports rested. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, the audience, before him and he picked up several small things. There was Joseph, picking at his fingernails in boredom. And Elizabeth was yawning widely, her white teeth glistening even in the dimmed lights of the small room. He avoided looking towards the center of the room, even though he basically stood right before it, because a large projector sat there with the light shining above his head. It was filled to the brim with slides and pictures that were soon going to show some of mankind's atrocities.

His fingers began to drum impatiently on the podium as he waited for the crowd to fill in completely. There were still a couple seats left open and he wasn't to start speaking until every chair was open. He saw several people shift uncomfortably but one person in particular caught his eye.

Her skin was a creamy white, having been hidden from the burning gaze of the sun underneath a black cloak, and her once brunette hair was a pale blonde. Her eyes, which were latched onto his, were an ice-blue that seemed to finish off her pale complexion. But he knew they'd always been that very pale blue. Always.

"Chris, go ahead and start," a somber voice ordered. The man on the stage, Chris, nearly jumped, having fallen into some sort of trance while staring at the woman he'd called 'partner' for several years. He glanced over and noticed his superior, a stern faced man with bitter eyes, nod coldly. With a deep breath, he turned his attention towards the audience and gathered his courage.

"Albert Wesker is officially dead," Chris Redfield said in a surprisingly business-like tone. Several heads jerked up, suddenly interested in the speech. Their eyes landed on him and he almost imagined they were asking him questions. Not that he could hear them, of course. "And with him, I'm hoping that the bioterrorism problems will begin to go away as well." He hoped that from the tone of his voice, they got the idea that he had something he needed to add to this.

"But…?" somebody started. Chris couldn't pinpoint the voice but it sounded masculine in tone. He looked down at his notes, his eyes scanning over the paper that had told him and his partner about the "Wesker Children."

"Spencer had actually brainwashed several children, dubbed the Wesker Children, so he could use them in further situations. Albert Wesker was one of the few to survive, if not the only one, and possibly one of the only ones who became inhuman," he continued. Chris couldn't help but notice that his superior was looking back and forth between him and somebody in the audience. There weren't many people alive that could make the superior so antsy but one of those was the President of the United States. And secretly, the dark haired man on the stage wasn't too surprised at the idea of the President being there.

"If there are other Wesker Children…" a strong voice started. It was highly confident in its tones, owning a tone many speakers would kill to have. "What will the B.S.A.A. do about these extra Wesker Children. If they exist of course."

That 'if' seemed to degrade Chris. He felt old, uncontrolled rage building in his chest. He'd just gotten through a mission that had nearly torn him limb from limb and this man was going to treat him like he didn't know what he was talking about? Chris, however, sucked in a deep and calming breath and ordered himself to remain calm. Snapping at somebody, even with how tired he obviously was, wouldn't get him anywhere.

"At the moment, we don't-" he started. His superior suddenly shoved his way over, making Chris stumble away from the podium. The attitude, and the way the other man's smile was much too wide, warned Chris that something was wrong and that he, as the superior, wanted to personally correct the mistake his little grunt had just made.

"We'll do anything it takes to make sure the rest of the Wesker children either remain dead or end up like Albert Wesker himself," the man said. Several faces moved and bodies twisted, trying to find the person that their superior was so upset about. That's when Chris saw him.

The President was an opposing figure. Like many before him, he'd been to war and had served his country several years in Vietnam. His arms were still slightly bulked up from that time though the suit he was wearing hid that extra muscle. His eyes were calm, calculating, but his smile was very friendly and open. And if his presence alone, an intimidating force with a pleasant smile, didn't worry someone the three or four Secret Service agents surrounding him would. Each of them stood easily six feet tall, their eyes hidden by thick black sunglasses, and their faces were incredibly stern. Chris secretly wondered if Secret Service even knew how to smile.

"Then how come Mister Redfield didn't know that?" the President questioned, that smile still on his face. His voice was still confident, having been used in front of the American public God knows how many times as the T-Virus left its mark across the country. His eyes were on Chris, who was suddenly uncomfortable. He realized that the most powerful man, politically, in the world was now staring at him like he was a toy to be played with.

"Chris is tired and needs some time off. He and two others just got back from Africa yesterday, as I'm certain you've heard. We haven't completely briefed him on every little detail of the upcoming operations against the Wesker Children," his superior said. Chris could see the man was struggling. Though the B.S.A.A. didn't work only for the United States, the President did give out the largest donations for their cause quite often. Chris knew that if the President wasn't pleased, he could stop those donations, not to mention simply ask the others who helped make the B.S.A.A. to cancel any further use of the anti-terror group. He knew that the B.S.A.A. couldn't afford a drop in money or a change in attitude between the U.S. government and the group itself.

"If he needs his sleep so much…why don't you let him go home now instead of speaking in front of this audience?" the imposing man asked coolly. The Secret Service around him stood like stone golems who were just waiting to strike. None of them looked like men who could get to their guns in under a matter of seconds, probably even less. They looked like a bunch of hired thugs. But he guessed that was the point. They looked scary enough as it was. Just wait until one sees what they could do.

"I wanted to speak," Chris suddenly said. All eyes landed on him and he saw his partner, her pale face even paler suddenly, giving him a worried look. But Chris was okay with speaking to the President. He was imposing, true, but the man seemed friendly enough. Well, so far. "I asked him to brief the majority of the B.S.A.A. on the situation in Africa. Las Plagas could still be out there."

"Oh, so we have somebody who actually gives a damn about the rest of the world, whereas his boss worries about himself and himself alone," the President said coolly. Chris felt his superior shift at his side, uneasy by the President's cold words. "Come now, there must be another reason for you to be making this speech."

"Not really," Chris said. He wasn't quite certain why the President was there, let alone talking to all of them. He didn't even understand why the President was being so cruel yet friendly, either. Unless he had something he wanted to accomplish by making Chris' superior squirm. "I saw what the parasite could do. I wanted to warn and prepare the B.S.A.A."

The President seemed to watch him for a few more minutes before a smirk replaced his friendly smile. "I'd like to speak to you personally, Mr. Redfield. Come to the White House and we'll have a little talk. How does…Tuesday of next week sound?" Chris felt his jaw aching to fall. He'd never spoken to a major politician, let alone get offered a chance to personally speak with the President of the United States. So, having apparently lost the ability to speak, he nodded his head much like a bobble head toy would. The President nodded and said, "Good. We'll call you and offer you a ride to the White House. Don't worry about a thing."

But as Chris watched the President offer a friendly wave to the people and leave, he couldn't help but worry. Something was wrong. He just wasn't quite certain what was wrong. Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling he was going to find out, one way or another.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 8th 2008---

The dogs were going nuts, barking and howling nonstop. Lucia was a peaceful woman and she loved her dogs but when they did this, they saw her wrath. So, as she walked out into the backyard, clad only in her thin jacket and jeans even though it was easily 30 below outside, she wasn't surprised when they stopped barking.

"Stupid mutts," she groaned as she looked around the pen. She expected to see several blue eyes looking at her fearfully. But instead of seeing her professional dog sled team, she saw an empty yard. "What the hell?" she whispered, her breath pluming out in a white cloud before her. The dogs, husky mixes with famous ancestors, must've jumped the fence. But only a grizzly, which slept this time of year, or a pack of wolves, which didn't live in the area anymore, could've scared fifteen full grown husky mixes from their safe and warm pen.

"Where'd they go?" she wondered aloud, looking the entire pen over. The cold was slowly creeping into her bones and she rubbed her hands together while she searched. A gentle snow was starting to fall and the only light was from the small, motion sensitive light on her porch. The dogs were either hiding or too far for her to see or hear.

The pen showed signs, she noted, of some kind of a struggle and a bright splash of crimson grabbed her attention and the cold was forgotten. She walked over but saw no bodies or even clumps of matted fur but it was quite obvious that the blood was indeed blood. No wolf or grizzly would kill in this pattern, especially since she hadn't heard a yelp or a single whimper. Her dogs never fought and even if they had, she would've heard them snarling at one another. The blood made no sense.

An odd sound, something like old leather crinkling or even vines being twisted around one another, came from her right. She turned and looked at the doghouses, where the noise was coming from. Without a moment of hesitation, she walked to the houses and crouched down, expecting to see a limping dog stumble out and into her arms. What she did see, however, was not something anybody would want to see.

It had six legs and a grotesque sack-like thing coming out from behind it, much like a spider but the sack was being dragged unlike a spider. Instead of a head a giant, gaping mouth filled to the brim with razor-like teeth seemed to be aimed at her. Her mind, so used to hearing tales of the many monsters and spirits that called her state home, instantly registered the thing as it was, a monster.

Before she could move away or even stand up, the creature leaped at her with surprising and unexpected speed. Its legs wrapped around her and those razor-like teeth sank into her throat. Her blood spilled quickly but even with the warmth it had retained from her body, it immediately began to feel the effect of the frozen world around it. The blood froze quickly, trapping the creature and Lucia in an icy cocoon.

It was _much_ colder than 30 below 0.

---New York City, New York March 8th 2008---

"What was that all about?" Jill asked as she and Chris exited the headquarters for the B.S.A.A. The large man at her side could only offer her a confused shrug as they walked, hoping that the shrug conveyed his confusion.

"I'm just…amazed, to be honest," he replied a shocking smile. "The President of the United States not only asked to speak with him, he asked me to speak with him in the White House! This is a once in a lifetime chance." Chris truly loved his country, even with its dark side, and the opportunity to meet its leader was amazing. Especially since the President had no negative marks on his term.

Jill obviously didn't have the same outlook. Her hands found their way into her pockets as she walked and her shoulder bunched forward slightly. He recognized the posture. Something was bothering her. She looked up and met his eyes, having apparently known he'd been watching her, and he saw something was indeed very wrong.

"Look," she said softly, "he has no reason to do this unless he wants something from you. And that bothers me. Because he either wants your help on something or information. And being the President… I doubt he's about to take no as an answer."

Chris sighed and lowered his gaze. He refrained from speaking until they made it to his truck, an old Dodge that he kept for the sake of keeping it. When he finally did speak, he rested his right hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met and he offered her his confident smile. "Nothing bad will happen, Jill. I promise you. And if things start to go wrong…I'll leave. I'd like to see some asshole in a suit try to take me down," he said, his voice laved with a promise left unspoken. One that assured her he'd be safe and they wouldn't be kept apart for another two years. "Besides…we're not meeting until next Tuesday. Who knows. He might change his mind."

She smiled back and though he could tell she didn't really believe everything he said, she didn't say anything more. Instead, they stood there like a couple fools, staring at each other. He wanted to tell her how badly he'd missed her, how he thought that he'd never be able to walk into the B.S.A.A. again without her at his side, how he'd wanted to give up everything because he'd lost her. But the thoughts refused to escape his throat.

The blonde woman suddenly looked concerned, her smile falling, and she asked, "What time is it?" He glanced down at his watch before remembering that it had been crushed in Africa when he'd been hit by…Well… With a shake of his head, he looked up at the sky and the sun.

"Late afternoon. Maybe heading towards five. Why?" He didn't like how concerned she looked and sounded. She cursed under her breath and stepped away from him. His hand fell limply to his side.

"I need to go and get a checkup. I was supposed to yesterday when we got back and I completely forgot. I just hope they don't get too upset. …You still live in the same apartment, right?" He nodded. "I'll get a bus ride there when they're done." With a quick hug goodbye, Jill turned and jogged off, leaving Chris alone.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 8th 2008---

"It's going to be a cold night," Roderick mumbled resentfully as he and his partner walked down the dock, their heavy boots clunking against the concrete. They were security guards for the world's third largest port in Anchorage, Alaska. They absolutely hated their jobs, to say the least. The frigid air could tear you to pieces if you didn't have something hot to drink or a lighter. Even covered in giant parkas and thick caribou skin pants goose bumps coursed up and down their bodies, covering every available inch of flesh. The chill was already creeping down to their bones and frost bite threatened to creep in if they didn't keep their gloves on.

"What makes you say that?" his partner, Tommy, asked as he rubbed his hands together in a frantic attempt to keep his fingers, even covered in thick leather, warm and safe from frost bite. The younger man didn't have the experience Roderick did. He'd only been in the Anchorage for a few months and he hardly knew anything about the Port of Anchorage. In fact, he was rather stupid when it came down to it. Roderick blamed that on him being a city kid. No city kid belonged in Anchorage unless they knew the cold that liked to seep into the city.

"Can't you feel it? It's not going to be a windy night… No, it's going to be a dead one. All dead and cold and empty. Nothingness," Roderick replied, eyeing the kid. Tommy looked back at him with saucer like eyes, the whites of them almost glowing in the increasing black of the night. His hands fell to his sides and his lips, white from either the cold or fear, parted. But then the kids head jerked towards the black water beside them and he sniffed loudly, a loud grating noise as mucus bared the path of the air. "What?" Roderick asked, almost laughing at the fool.

"I thought I heard something splashing in the water," the boy replied. Roderick couldn't help but note the cowardice in his voice. He really didn't like kids from cities in the 48 states below. They typically went off the deep end up in the cold. They really didn't belong up in the icy state. But they came anyway.

A sudden splash caught Roderick's attention too and the man shot a look at the icy waters. Even mammals designed for the cold waters stayed out of the port. They knew it was dangerous to swim near boats. He noticed that the concrete near him, one covered in a glossy ice coat, were dampened with water that was freezing almost immediately. His eyes flickered back to the water.

The black waters stretched on forever, like a deep cavern or even a mouth waiting to swallow them up. He could almost believe that some unnamed monster was waiting, its jaws stretched wide, to swallow him up. But he wouldn't let that happen. Nope. He wasn't about to believe that the kid could be right and that there was _something_, from the deepest pits of man's mind, in the black waters. The icy waters. The cruel and unforgiving waters.

"You're got yourself spooked, Tommy. Nothing's there," he said finally, shrugging his shoulders in a manly way. Manly men didn't get frightened by stupid fairytales and kid stuff. But Tommy didn't reply. "Has it got you scared stiff back there?" Roderick laughed. But the laugh died in his throat as he noticed the lack of heavy boots crunching the frost and ice. He swallowed and barked, "Dammit kid, now isn't the time to be scarin' me, alright?! We got a job to do. Now let's do it." His voice sounded choked, panicked. He felt like his bladder, having been emptied before his shift started, was about to explode. He knew how dangerous it was to piss yourself in the cold. The freeze would instantly go at the liquid and you'd find yourself with frostbite in some less than pleasant areas.

"Alright, this is getting fucking ridiculous!" he barked, his chest aching as his heart hammered away. He wondered if he could have a heart attack, even though eh was relatively healthy. "Come out, kid!" When Tommy still didn't respond though and Roderick finally groaned and turned around to see-

-nothing. There was no Tommy, no monster, no something. The port was empty, just like the way the coldest days in Anchorage made the city empty. Nobody was there. Everything was black. Black, he remembered, was the color of death and despair. Anchorage knew plenty of both. It was the nation's capital for homeless deaths, rapes, and sometimes was one of the top when it came to homicide. It was such an easy place to get away with stuff like that. Even easier when your victims were a couple of half frozen guards standing next to colder than death waters.

"Where the fuck are you?!" he barked, no longer caring if his voice sounded girly and panicked. "Tommy, you little fucking bastard, where are you?!" Calm down, he silently told himself. You're panicking. The kid will come out eventually. He's just trying to scare you.

Something twitched in the water again and Roderick swallowed thickly. If he was trying to scare him, it was sure as fuck working. But if something was in the water, it wasn't possible that it was Tommy. No human could survive the Gulf of Alaska's waters when they were in the winter temperature zone. "Tommy!" he shrieked, his voice echoing in the frosty air. Something twitched in the water again and Roderick tore his flashlight from his belt, not certain why he hadn't done so earlier. It was a mag light and the beam would most certainly penetrate the black waters. He flicked it on and aimed the blinding light at the water.

And staring back at him with wide eyes frozen open was Tommy. The boy had a look of terror on his face and his hands reached up for the edge of the dock, like something from the water had reached up and grabbed his leg and pulled him down. Roderick felt his stomach churn. He felt like he was about to throw up. But then he looked closer. The mag light's beam was reflecting off of something. Something big. It looked like…

Roderick dropped the flashlight and broke into the sprint back towards the office, his breath tearing from his lungs painfully. The cold was wrapping its fingers around him and, in response to the cold and in response to what he'd just seen, Roderick screamed for the first time in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

No Leaf Clover

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys. Also, Maximus Prime, I can try that with Chris, Jill, and Sheva. But I've never really written a triangle so I can't promise it will be all that great. I'll try though. This chapter…introduces a set of very popular characters into the mix.

_Says it feels right this time,  
__Turned it 'round and found the right line.  
_"_Good day to be alive, sir,  
__Good day to be alive," he says._

---En route to Anchorage, Alaska March 7th 2008---

As he walked down the train tracks, following the long lost train, he continuously asked himself how he was alive. His face was scraped to a point he doubted he'd be recognizable upon entering the city. His hands were torn and ruined, making it basically impossible to clench his fists. Blood seeped through his clothes, freezing in the bitter air. His limbs were mostly numb, except for the tips of his fingers and toes, where some nerves seemed to still have life even after the former was nearly shredded completely off. So, how was he alive?

The cold wind brushed the light, powdery snow into the air. It swirled around, each flake dancing around like a professional who'd just found heaven. They seemed to surround him in eternal whiteness, something that seemed almost dreamlike. Then again, he wasn't quite certain if he was awake. It could all be a dream. A nightmare, sure, but a dream nonetheless. That would explain that horrible noise, all the blood, and the endless pain. …But you couldn't hurt in dreams. So, that pretty much annihilated that theory.

His feet, numbed even though they were surrounded by their lovely leather shoes, clunked up against the steel that formed the train tracks every now and then, sending a tremor of pain through his body while a dull sound filled the air. The snow wasn't staying on the train tracks for some reason. He wasn't certain. He didn't know anything about snow so he didn't get why it wasn't attaching itself to the metal like it was attaching itself to his skin.

The sun was threatening to go down, its final golden rays raking the sky and reminding him how cold the nights were. He swallowed thickly, almost forgetting the pain that filled his body. He wasn't worried about the cold. He'd heard through his life that the cold would just make you go to sleep, that was all. Not such a bad death really.

No, it was the animals. Alaska was notorious for its super predators, the wolves and the bears. Grizzlies were probably hibernating, especially since winter appeared to be staying late this year, but wolf packs were more than likely hungry and prowling for some poor fool who'd stumbled into their territories. He'd always thought of wolves as beautiful, amazing beings. But he'd seen what they could do to a full grown moose. He didn't exactly want to see what they could do to him.

An odd crunching noise filled the air and he jerked his head up, flinching at the pain the blood that was freezing on his tender skin caused. His eyes adjusted to the fading light and landed on the back of some kind of animal. Messy black fur stood up in all directions, almost forming jagged spikes along the creature's back. He whimpered, his brain not wanting to be afraid again after what had happened on the train, and the creature jerked its head up.

Jagged teeth glistened in the little light that was left and yellowish eyes peered at him carefully. It was a dog but something was obviously wrong with it. His eyes, which were starting to blur for some odd reason, noticed that the animal's body was twitching slightly and its lips quivered as if it was about to start growling and he silently wondered if it possibly had rabies, even though it wasn't foaming at the mouth. He knew that its teeth were abnormally long and something was completely off about this thing.

He stumbled back and the creature broke into an immediate sprint. He cried out, a pathetic noise, and tried to run. His aching body rejected the idea and his legs gave out, throwing him face first into the snow. But he dared not stop moving. He immediately began to drag himself, his ruined fingers grabbing at fistfuls of snow and dragging him across the barren land. The animal was panting heavily behind him, the sound getting louder and louder as it got closer. And then a huge weight slammed onto his back and his face smashed into the snow. The frozen liquid muffled his scream of pain.

Without paying heed to his aching body, he thrashed his limbs and tried to escape. But hot breath licked at the nape of his neck and then a pain too great for words coursed through his body. Another scream escaped his lips and for a short period of time, that was the only sound in the cold world around them. And then a sickening snap filled the air and he fell silent.

As his life started to fade, the canine released his broken neck and lifted its bloody muzzle to the sky. An eerie howl escaped its lips, a howl of victory and success. But it wasn't the howl of a dog. No, it was something other than a dog making that noise. But he didn't care. Not anymore. Not as that sweet, sweet blackness gently carried him away from the cold, unwelcoming world.

---Washington D.C., March 9th 2008---

"Mr. President, we have some bad news." Wasn't that just the greatest thing to hear when you first step back into your home at two in the morning? And weren't the panicked faces all looking at him expectantly just great too? "Mr. President?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He'd barely just gotten home from his oddly long flight back from New York. Air Force One had taken off at about five o'clock the night before and he'd barely arrived in Washington D.C. at one-twenty in the morning. He didn't understand why it had taken so long, especially considering how close New York City and Washington D.C. are. It wasn't like they'd crossed the country.

Anyway, throughout the entire flight, nobody had said a single word. And he'd slept in the silence, almost soaking it all up happily with true enjoyment. Of course, he'd known something was wrong. Never was there silence for him, not even when he was trying to sleep at night. So, why would Air Force One be silent when they were obviously bustling with an eagerness to speak?

"What?" he finally asked. "What's the bad news this time? More outbreaks in California? Maybe the T-Virus has reached D.C. Or perhaps my daughter has been kidnapped again, thanks to a traitor who was believed dead for two years." His voice had taken on a dark tone while he'd spoken, showing his rather bitter side about all of this. He was sick of it. Honestly, he was quite willing to give up his place as President if that meant he'd have some peace, away from all the virus talk. And away from all the lying. That was really getting to him.

"Um, no," one of his advisors said. He shot the young man a look but somebody else grabbed his attention. Ingrid Hunnigan, one of his smartest agents. She was typically an information giver, having never really stepped foot out of her office on a mission. But that didn't mean anything. She was incredibly bright and she could get the proper information when needed. So, when she looked at him with a worried look in her light brown eyes, he knew something was wrong. Wasn't that just great?

"We believe that a biohazard incident has occurred in the Port of Anchorage," she suddenly explained. The President felt himself swallow thickly. That was bad news. Anchorage's port was the third largest in the world, the second largest in the country. If something went wrong up there, all hell was going to break loose. And not just for America.

"What kind of proof do you have for this?" he questioned. If they didn't have enough proof that it was indeed a biohazard and not just something else, something stupid, then everything could keep going as it already was. However, if it was indeed a biohazard incident, actions had to be taken. The port had to be shut down. Agents had to be sent in. And maybe even the B.S.A.A. would be alerted. Then all hell would break loose as the media got involved and he'd end up on a stage, bullshitting his way through another press conference.

"So far, only a very frightened man. They're going to search for the body tomorrow. They called it in immediately after the man came in. According to them he was 'babbling about some sea monster in the port' but nobody really reacted to his claims. That was until they realized that he was alone and the other man wasn't anywhere to be seen. So, they thought he'd slipped in but the man, according to them again, is 'extremely bright and has never slipped up on the job.' We're pretty certain that if the man is indeed trustworthy…then we're dealing with a biohazard," Hunnigan explained, her eyes moving from his face to a paper in her hands. He felt his stomach churn and he almost didn't notice that she'd failed to tell him what these people had been doing in the port.

"Why? Why does it have to be a biohazard? Can't it just be some fish or something startling the kid and…and…" He trailed off after seeing the look on Hunnigan's face. Everybody looked at her and she looked down.

"Animals haven't been seen in the Port of Anchorage since its construction. They stayed out of those waters naturally and the sudden human activity just asserted this. That and…they make their security guards, which is what they were, go through what they called a 'jump test' during the summer months. They make you walk the port over, at night, and they try and make you jump. If you fall into the water, you're fired." That just didn't comfort him whatsoever. And from the look on her face, this was bothering her quite a bit as well.

"So, we have a biohazard in Alaska. What else can go wrong?" the President laughed, his voice angry and harsh. As he spoke, he threw up his arms in exasperation. He was hoping that with as much bad news as he'd already heard, there wouldn't be anymore. But upon looking at their faces, he realized something else was wrong. "What now?"

"Sir… Alaskan officials are declaring that we can't send up the B.S.A.A. until we prove that it's a biohazard. They said they don't want a big incident. They're willing to allow maybe one or two field agents…from the White House itself," one of his advisors said. He looked at Hunnigan who nodded sadly.

"So…Secret Service, in other words?" he asked. Already a name was coming to mind. He just happened to be the only Secret Service agent who had experience with the viruses and the parasite. When they nodded, he sighed gently and looked at Hunnigan. With a steady face and calm eyes, he said, "Get me Kennedy."

---Anchorage, Alaska March 9th 2008---

The freezing wind gently licked at her neck, forcing her hair to blow into her face. The black strands blocked her peripheral vision and made her slightly uneasy. She didn't like any of her vision to be blocked whatsoever. However, she couldn't do anything about the problem. Her hair was too short to pull into a ponytail and the wind wasn't about to stop. It was a strong force, one that would always remained uncontrolled by any mere mortal.

Her vision, even somewhat blocked by her hair, managed to notice that no living being walked on the sidewalk. The streets of Anchorage were free of life. She was the only person gutsy enough to walk through the frozen streets at such a late hour, where the sun's protective gaze wasn't watching over her. News spread amazingly fast through the massive city. The security guard's death by mysterious means was well known by the city. And she doubted it helped that the majority of the residents in Anchorage were very superstitious. They know believed that the Port of Anchorage had a spirit swimming through its cold waters.

"Hey baby," a voice crooned through the soft whisper of the wind. She sighed as her mind silently and quickly dissected the voice. It slurred, laden with alcohol. And, judging how her stay in major cities had gone throughout her lifetime, she knew exactly what this drunken fool was about to try to do. "What's a pretty little lady like you doin' out in the cold all on your lonesome?"

She turned to her right, where the sidewalk turned into a dark alleyway that stretched on for a seemingly great deal of distance. A man leaned against a wall of one of the buildings that formed the alleyway, his clothes stained with grease and other things. His belly bulged, heavy with alcohol and countless meals no doubt. He positively reeked of alcohol, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. Alcohol was not exactly something she adored.

Sadly, she'd been expecting this. Every city she'd entered had at least one or two overgrown boys that tried to have their way with her. However, they learned the hard way that she was not a woman who would be taken down by people who didn't think. She'd make sure to make them cry like the little children they really were.

Since she didn't reply, he stepped towards her and grabbed her forearm with a vice-like grip. The bitter stench of alcohol was even stronger now and she felt her stomach churn slightly. With a slight step backwards, she narrowed her eyes warningly. However, his brain obviously wasn't working properly and the warning in her eyes went unheeded.

The street light above them allowed her to see his face, where thick stubble dotted his thick cheeks and his eyes were heavily bloodshot, almost completely red. His skin lacked any color and was an extremely pale, almost sickly, color. He looked about to keel over. She guessed that was the alcohol in his system. She didn't know. Never had enough alcohol entered her system to make her drunk enough to act like him.

"Come on. I'll help you out, baby," he croaked, his free hand making its way towards her hip. She sighed, almost saddened that she had to hurt the poor fool, and without much movement snapped her leg up vertically in a vicious axe kick. The curved tip of her boot struck him in the jaw, right near his chin, and he collapsed almost immediately. His body hit the ground before her boot had even returned to it. Blood spurted out from between his lips and she had no doubt that she'd broken several of his teeth. Hopefully he had a good dentist.

"You should've stayed in your bar," she stated simply, her purr-like voice as calm as ever. It would take much more than some drunken moron to make her heart speed up. Now, a tall blond agent with pale cerulean eyes and a lopsided smile, that was something that could make her heart speed up.

The drunk groaned in his unconscious state and she started to walk away, her high-heeled boots clicking softly against the concrete that made up the sidewalk. She'd taken less than four steps from his side when she heard an odd sound, almost like a chocking noise. She spun on her heels, forming a 180 degree turn, to see-

-an empty sidewalk. The drunk was gone.

---New York City, New York, March 9th 2008---

Sheva wasn't exactly what one could call a city girl. She hated the huge buildings and the clustered streets, the endless noise and the constant crime. She hated being in New York City. However, she didn't hate being away from Kijuju and the madness she'd encountered there. Although she loved Africa, the things she'd seen there were just enough to make her avoid visiting her homeland for a little while.

Her home in New York City was a small apartment, just right for her. She had a picture of her parents on a table near the couch that was the only picture in her entire apartment. Magazines, books, and other reading material covered the coffee table that sat before the television. The TV itself was rather small, only used for keeping up on everyday American news. Though lately all she'd been picking up was more news about the end of bioterrorism according to the President of the United States.

Other than that, her apartment was basically barren. Her clothes were tucked neatly away in her dresser and closest and her bathroom wasn't cluttered at all. She hated clutter. She liked being able to move. She liked being able to get to her guns easily.

"I'm pathetic," she mumbled aloud, realizing that was the only reason she liked having open space instead of clutter. She wanted to be able to reach her deadly tools. Especially now that the nightmares had started.

Shaking her head to clear out those thoughts, the young woman started for her bathroom. She planned on taking an extremely hot shower, just to savor the warmth and the clean feeling the water gave her. Africa had bred a love of heat over cold in her for some reason, though she knew others from Africa couldn't stand the heat. She loved it. And as she entered her calm, white bathroom, she knew that she would take a hot day over a cool day anytime.

Sheva was reaching for the hot water tap when the apartment's phone started to ring, its annoying jingle making her cringe. She shot a dark look over her shoulder and decided to ignore it. Whoever it was could leave a message. As the phone continued to ring, she pulled her hair out its typical ponytail and let it fall gracefully onto her shoulders. She carelessly tugged off her T-shirt, revealing her undershirt to the bathroom, when she heard her own voice.

"Leave a message after the beep and I'll try and get back to you," her recorded voice said pleasantly, making her sound almost happy. Those were the good old days, she guessed. Back when she could still smile and laugh about stupid things. Sure, life had been hard but she'd still found things to smile about.

"Uh, hey Sheva, it's Chris." Her eyes widened and her heart nearly burst from her chest. He sounded almost completely different, almost nervous she guessed. But hearing his voice again, especially so soon, was really nice. "I just wanted to check on you. I…um…I can't really speak for you but…I know that after my encounter with the T-Virus in Raccoon City, I had terrible nightmares. I am again and…I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know it's…it's difficult to deal with not being able to…well…whatever. Just call me back when you can, okay? Uh…bye." A beep followed his message and she bit her lip, almost saddened that his voice was gone.

"Oh God, I'm acting like a…a child," she groaned bitterly, shaking her head. Although she urged to rush to the phone and call him immediately, she turned her attention to the shower and decided that he would just have to wait.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 9th 2008---

"I've never seen my brother afraid," Frederick whispered as he watched his twin pace the holding cell. Roderick's face was covered in stubble and his eyes were wide with terror. From what Frederick knew, his twin hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. Whatever was bothering him was bothering him greatly.

"Has he ever hallucinated?" the young woman next to him questioned calmly. She sounded like she was used to dealing with people who claimed they saw monsters in freezing waters. He guessed she might've. Who knew anymore?

"No," he steadily said, dragging his eyes from his brother. He looked at her, from her short brown hair to her steady hazel eyes, the young woman reeked of business. She must've dealt with something like this before. Otherwise, her calm attitude made no sense. "Nope. Rod's a good, levelheaded man. He's never hallucinated anymore than I have. Why, you think he's crazy?"

"Oh, no, I don't," she assured, giving him a sad smile. "I've dealt with things the mind's not quite used to myself. I survived the Raccoon City incident. Didn't they tell you that when they sent me in? Or was all they told you my name?" For some reason, he wanted to believe her but couldn't. Ten years ago, this woman would've been a teenaged girl. There was no way she'd survived the Raccoon City incident. But he decided to play along.

"Fuck, they didn't even tell me your name," he replied, looking at his brother again. Roderick was shaking now, his hands quivering at his sides. God, he looked like hell. Frederick didn't like seeing his twin, somebody who was basically his mirror self, looking like a boy who'd just had the worst nightmare of his life. "Sad, huh?"

"They didn't? Wow… Well, my name is Rebecca Chambers. I work with Terra-Save and, although I was only eighteen, I survived the Raccoon City incident. I know, I know, impossible. But I'm telling the truth and I kinda have to hope that you believe me about such. I wouldn't hate you for not believing me," she said, giving him another smile. This one wasn't sad though.

"Terra-Save… We said-"

"The government wanted Terra-Save to…make…well…sure that this was actually a biohazard incident. The President was dealing with other things at the time and since he basically orders around the Secret Service, they sent me in to talk first," Rebecca explained.

"And…you got here in one day? We called yesterday. I know planes are fast but damn," he said. She shook her head and looked at Roderick curiously, almost like a doctor examining a patient with some unknown illness. He supposed that made the patient more interesting, more fun.

"I was in Canada yesterday because of a reported incident. Terra-Save was contacted and then they contacted me. Good thing I was there. Your brother seems to be…well… He really needs some psychiatric help, Sheriff. I'm not going to say that he's crazy but at the moment his brain isn't accepting what he saw and he's having a breakdown," Rebecca said. Frederick was beginning to think she liked to talk.

"What? A…a fuckin' quack? Great… And there's no other choice?" She shook her head and he growled bitterly, a sound that he and his brother had developed as children to show their mother their discontent. "Joy to the fuckin' world."

---Washington D.C., March 9th 2008---

The .50 caliber round hit the target with such force that the entire upper torso was blown away. The rifle's thunderous crack rippled through the air, almost louder than the loudest thunder. It was a reassuring sound to the man holding the rifle, a sound that calmly guaranteed him that the weapon was as strong as people had promised. And with the target's torso having been torn away, he had no doubts that it was just as deadly as people had claimed.

"Nice," he breathed, lowering the black gun and looking at the target. It had once been a thick sheet of paper that had been cut into the shape of a human. It was a good target for soldiers, or agents in his case, to practice on. It typically reacted the proper way to the gun being used on it. And sometimes, just to help, people put cement blocks behind it, just to slow the bullet down. He doubted it would've worked in this case. The round, and the rifle, was just too strong to be slowed by a couple cement blocks.

The Barrett .50 caliber M107 sniper rifle was a deadly gun. He'd never been one to use sniper rifles, as his particular favorite guns landed in the shotgun and handgun categories, but a comrade in the Secret Service had told him that if he wanted a badass gun, he'd request the Barrett. And he'd done just that. And he definitely wasn't disappointed. Though, he'd had to go into the middle of nowhere to shoot the gun since it was so powerful it was a danger to people nearby even after going through a target, human or otherwise. Who knew that Washington D.C. had such great open ranges for such a powerful gun.

"I owe you one, Smith," the agent said to no one in particular. The wind seemed to respond, however, deciding to blow a little harder at that moment. He smiled faintly and started back towards his truck, the rifle cradled in his arms like a precious stone. Sitting in the truck, listening to Metallica, was a massive fawn colored English mastiff, his sad expression remaining though his tail instantly started smacking the seats of the Ford Lightning. "It's a good thing you stayed in there, Behemoth. You would hate me for life had you been out here when this thing fired," the agent said pleasantly to the large dog.

Carefully, he laid the rifle in the bed of the truck and draped a black blanket over it. Although he was Secret Service, it was quite foolish to drive around D.C. with the rifle visible. The cops, although highly respected by the former cop himself, absolutely couldn't stand him. He wasn't certain why, though, for he'd never done anything wrong.

The agent started to return to the driver's side door when something in his pocket started to vibrate. His good mood vanished immediately and his lips curved downwards into a frown. Behemoth cocked his head at his human's sudden downcast attitude. But the agent simply pulled the PDA out of his pocket and pressed down the button to answer the call. Immediately, a pretty woman appeared on the small screen.

"Hunnigan," he said coolly, his voice taking on a rather distant tone. For a few moments, being Secret Service hadn't been too bad. Firing the Barrett had been as close to freedom as he was likely to ever get. But now the woman calling him was just bringing him back into the bitter reality of his job.

"Don't look too happy," she said stiffly, her eyes hardening bitterly behind her glasses. He smiled, almost like a cocky teenager, at her in response. "Look, I know we technically gave you the day off but… The President needs you here."

"Hudson said he got back to the White House early this morning. According to my watch it's nearly six. Why all of a sudden?" he asked. Secretly, he knew the truth. The President had probably called for him as soon as whatever was going on had been reported but Hunnigan hadn't wanted to make the call. She'd probably busied herself with other things.

"We were going to call you right away but we got word of…something that went wrong with the mission and…we had to deal with that first," she said, stumbling over her words a couple time. He guessed that was going to happen. After all, they didn't have the greatest relationship anymore. Not since his little so called 'red secret' had gotten out thanks to Ashley Graham, the daughter of the President.

"Right, if that's what you want to say," he said, almost wanting to make Hunnigan squirm with anger. He was as upset with her as she was with him. But to him, he had a reason to be upset. His 'red secret,' as Ashley had taken to calling it, was something he'd dealt with for nearly a decade before Hunnigan had heard about it. Never had it caused problems, never had it compromised _anything_. Had it, he would've dealt with it. With force. But it hadn't. So, he'd let it go on its own way. Not that he really wanted to. Not after-

"Shut up," Hunnigan snarled, her cold exterior dropping and letting the human side of her show up. He lowered his gaze from her cold face and let his anger fall, along with the memories of that 'red secret' that tried to rise. "Look, just get here."

"Right. I will," he assured. He looked at his dog, who stared at him with sad chocolate colored eyes. It was almost as if Behemoth could feel his master's conflicted emotions. But as if a switch had been flipped, those emotions disappeared and the Secret Service agent in him stepped up to speak. "I should be there in about half an hour, a little more in the traffic's bad."

"Good," Hunnigan said, her own agent side stepping up as well. But before he could turn off the PDA, without a goodbye or anything, she softly said, "And Leon…" One of the few times she called him by his first name anymore was when she was sorry about something. He almost sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I know you are." With that, he clicked the cancel button on the screen of the PDA and shook his head. "Because you always are," he mumbled to the now blank PDA.

---New York City, New York March 9th 2008---

Raking her fingers through her newly dyed hair, Jill examined herself in the mirror. She'd hated the pale blonde locks that had once covered her head, so she'd died it back to its original brunette, almost feeling like herself once again because of the change of color. Now, she was contemplating cutting her hair short again, like it had been in Raccoon City. But she wasn't certain how Chris would feel about that. When she'd started to let her hair grow out again, he'd stated how nice she looked. And she remembered how her heart had sped up at that and a small blush appeared on her cheeks.

Jill shook her head bitterly, annihilating those thoughts. She cared greatly for Chris. He was one of the few things that had been a constant in the two years Wesker had held her prisoner. He'd been a constant picture in her mind, something that gave her hope and also a reason to live. But she didn't think he felt the same. Although it was quite obvious that he cared for her, she doubted he cared on the same level that she did.

"Oh, what does it matter?" she growled to herself. The small room around her had no answers, nor did her mirror image, so she just sighed and turned around. Her eyes landed on the bed that sat on the far end of the room and she started for it.

According to her psyche evaluation, she wouldn't be going on a mission for about a year or so. Wesker had screwed her over big-time and her superiors weren't about to let her go back on the job where she had a chance of snapping and trying to kill somebody who didn't deserve it. And she didn't really blame them. Of course, she knew that also went along with the fact that she didn't really want to deal with bioterrorism again any time soon anyway.

"Miss Valentine?" a calm voice asked from outside the door. The B.S.A.A. were letting her use one of the headquarters' bedrooms until she could get her own place again. The bedroom, which was more like a jail cell than anything else, was in the same building that Chris had just met the President of the United States in.

"Yes?" she called, walking over to the door. She opened it, revealing a young man clad in B.S.A.A. gear. He looked rather shy and she smiled pleasantly at him. She didn't recognize him but he more than likely knew her. Everybody knew the woman who was supposed to be dead.

"Um, I was just wondering if you would…um…help me?" he said, looking more and more shy with every word. He looked like he was about to bolt too, almost like he was afraid she was going to bark at him like his superiors, no doubt, did.

"What do you want help with?" she asked, making sure her voice stayed pleasant. Jill didn't necessarily consider herself a people person but she could be one when she wanted to. She knew how to be nice and when to be nice. Just like she knew how to be mean and when to be mean.

"Um, I was kinda hoping you'd help me with training some of the others in physical combat. I mean…we're kinda lacking these days. And I've never seen you fight personally, but I've heard that you're the greatest fighter in B.S.A.A. history though. And we…they could use some help in becoming better at…well…anything. Kicking, punching, anything to do with physical fighting…we suck," he said, offering her smiles. She noticed the slight redness to his face and offered him a grin.

"I'll help in any way I can. I hope you go easy on me though. I'm a bit out of shape," she said happily. That was a lie but he didn't say anything. Instead, the blush vanished and he grinned widely.

"Sure! Anything! Thanks Miss Valentine." He looked about to burst and she almost imagined him as bipolar, one second shy and the next bustling and laughing like a young child. He still was a young boy, though…

"Okay, just two things. One, where do you want to meet up and start training and when? And two, please, just call me Jill. Miss Valentine is not a title I like that much." It seemed that her luck was looking up suddenly.

---Washington D.C., March 9th 2008---

He stood like a stone golem, like all Secret Service did, and watched the President speak to his wife. The man looked absolutely miserable, his face tired from lack of sleep and obviously worn out from all of the bustle surrounding him. The blond agent could only imagine that life was rather hectic for the man, especially with bioterrorism and all that good stuff. And whatever was going on now probably didn't help at all. Especially if it had to do with bioterrorism. After all, the President had just gotten on national TV and told the country that everybody was going to be safe and that bioterrorism was over. …Though…that was technically possible. Or likely, even.

"Oh for… Fine, I will, alright? Now, if you don't mind, I think I left Agent Kennedy standing long enough. Please, just go wait with Ashley. I need to speak to him privately." The two men waited as the First Lady exited the house, her nose wrinkling at the agent. She wasn't particularly fond of the deadly agents. As soon as she was out of the Oval Office, the President sighed and dropped his face into his hands. When he lifted his face from his palms, he looked older than his forty-seven years. "I'm sorry about. She expects me to start acting like I'm not a President when I'm in the White House. Because, you know, that makes so much sense."

The agent bit back a response of, 'You never really act like the President around me' and instead smiled slightly. It was true. The President wasn't very president-like when dealing with agents he liked. But then the smile fell and he somberly asked, "You wanted to speak to me, sir?"

"Drop the formalities, please. You made me do such for you, return the favor," the President calmly replied. "And yes, I did want to speak to you. I've got a mission for you. And I know you're going to hate me for giving it. But…I'm afraid you're the only one I can fully trust with this mission."

"It has to do with Las Plagas, I'm guessing," he replied, unable to keep the bitter tone from his voice. The President nodded faintly, an apologetic expression on his face. The blond agent shrugged slightly. "I can handle that…" Which was true. Though that didn't really mean he wanted to, of course.

"Yeah well…I'm not afraid of that. It's where you have to go that I'm afraid of. Have you ever been to the artic areas of this country?" the President asked, suddenly standing and walking around to the front of his desk. He looked short, even though he was average height for a man.

"You mean Alaska?" the agent asked, confused. What did that have to do with… Oh… Oh hell no. "I-"

The President held up a hand, instantly silencing him. Luck was obviously not choosing to be on his side, like always. He had luck when it came down to living through terrible situations, but when it came down to getting out of a mission or something else he really didn't want to do his luck was horrid.

The President, with a genuinely apologetic look on his face, said, "I know. Trust me. I know. But… Well, first of all, it might not be anything. We don't really know what's wrong with them. It might be nothing at all, just some foolish people jumping at shadows in the night. And if that's the case, the mission's really simple. You just go up there and come back home within a two day time frame. But…we do know that they want help and they don't want a big task force up there. They don't want the people to be afraid. So…we're sending you to Alaska, Leon. Alone."


	3. Chapter 3

No Leaf Clover

A/N: Since nobody really reviewed, I don't really have anything to say here. Oh well. Oh, one thing though. If anybody does continue to review this, if you have any questions, they'll be answered in my author's note instead of through personal PMs. That way, if anybody else is reading this and has a similar question, it will be answered for them as well.

_Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel,  
__Was just a freight train comin' your way.  
__Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel,  
__Was just a freight train comin' your way, hey, yeah._

---Anchorage, Alaska March 9th 2008---

It was a well known fact that homeless didn't survive long in Alaska, even in the big cities like Anchorage or Juneau. Mostly the cold got to them or the animals did. Other times, things like lack of water or food killed them. Then there was always the psychopaths who snapped in the middle of the winter and searched the city over for some poor, homeless man to kill. Either way, the homeless rarely made it through the winter without help from some kind person. This year, however, it was highly unlikely anybody was going to help. After all, people didn't like coming out in the middle of the cold night when there was a monster in the port.

This particular homeless man wasn't concerned about the cold or the animals or the lack of food and water or even crazy murderers. He was one of the few to make it through the winter months on the streets without losing a limb to frost bite. Animals didn't frighten him and he was good at starting fires in the cold nights. And you just had to know where to look, or hide, for the others. The winter was simply yet another thing he'd fought through.

The wind roared in his ears as he walked towards his cardboard home, a towering palace of cardboard boxes piled together and resting up against the side of some kind of building in an alleyway. Garbage was piled along the walls, forming a sort of barrier against the brick and concrete of the buildings and the inner section of the alleyway.

More wind pushed against him, piercing his skin through his clothes and their many holes. A nasty snowstorm was brewing, threatening to turn into a full blown blizzard by the morning, which was long away since Alaskan nights seemed to be extremely long. Snow drifted to the earth lazily, almost like it was assuring him a comfortable, calm night instead of a blizzard. Snow liked to lie.

"Larry," the homeless man croaked out as he stepped towards the palace. A fire blazed in an old tin garbage can, bathing the palace in orange light. Many homeless, including him, considered the worst part about the Alaskan winters to be the lack of water. Pipes that led to outside facilities, such as water fountains, froze and many homeless dehydrated quickly. Or resorted to eating snow. Which just made the thirst worst. Like right now. His throat was aching something fierce because of no water.

"Larry…" he tried again. His companion, an elderly homeless man who also had an amazing knack for surviving the winters, didn't respond. It was possible that he was sleeping, trying to build up body heat for the icy winter night that they were going to have. But the cardboard houses seemed empty. Okay, he might've gone walking or something, just to stretch his tired limbs before the cold got to them.

"Larry?" he tried again, simply to make sure Larry was or was not there. His eyes scanned the cardboard palace and his eyes landed on what seemed to be a large lump of clothing. It seemed to be vaguely humanoid in shape and as his eyes adjusted even more to the odd orange glow from the fire, he finally realized what he was looking at. Larry, looking as disheveled as always, sat propped up against one of the building's walls. He stared blankly out at the world, his eyes an odd reddish orange in the firelight. "You okay, buddy?"

Larry's eyes seemed to focus suddenly and snapped up, landing on him. The older man glared at him with such ferocious intensity that he stumbled back a step. Panic started to settle into him. Had Larry snapped finally? Was he about to finally die because of something caused by the cold? Before any of his questions could be answered by Larry, his back smacked into something else, another person he realized as hands reached up to grab at him. He turned, his lips parting to question the newcomer but what his eyes landed on forced him to stumble back in horror-

-and right into Larry's awaiting hands.

---Washington D.C., March 9th 2008---

The President knew Leon was absolutely miserable about the mission. The look on the man's face gave him away completely. And the President didn't blame him. Not only was he being sent to a state that was about as far from D.C. as one could get, but he was being sent in alone and into yet another biohazard incident. The President really didn't blame him for being upset.

"I'm sorry," the President started. He didn't bother to continue his apology, however, because Leon silently shook his head. "This isn't fair by any means but…."

"When do I leave?" he asked, almost daring to interrupt the President. The older man felt a slight cringe threaten but he relaxed. He wanted Leon to treat him as an equal, after all. Even if that meant getting snapped at or interrupted. The Secret Service around him didn't make a noise but he knew they were questioning Leon's ability to speak to the President like that.

"Ten minutes," the President ordered, walking around back to his desk. "I've already handled some things that might make this mission a little better, not by much though, and I'll have Hunnigan brief you further in the ride to the airport." Leon nodded and started to leave. "Good luck, Leon," the President said. The blond agent's back was facing him and he saw the man's head lower slightly before he nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he said coolly before leaving the Oval Office. President Graham sat in his chair and rubbed at his face. After Leon had saved his daughter in Spain, he'd wanted to give the man a little slack, for personal reasons. He believed that a man who took on an entire cult without help deserved a little slack, maybe an easier mission here and there. But no, the government didn't agree. They saw Leon's potential. And they were using it.

Graham was uncertain of how much time passed between Leon's departure and when the door suddenly opened. But when it did burst open, allowing a young blonde access to his room and his agents to go for their guns even though they recognized her, he wanted Leon to come back. His daughter's fury was etched on her face. Ashley's crush on Leon, instead of diminishing through the years, had simply gotten stronger. And when he, the President, dared send Leon on a mission that could endanger the agent's life, Ashley was there to complain.

"Leon just asked me to watch Behemoth because he's going to Alaska. Why?" the young woman asked. At twenty-four, she was old enough to live on her own but she'd decided to come live at the White House until her father's term ended this year. Of course, Graham wasn't too happy about that. He loved his daughter. But her crush on his agent was proving to be stronger than her bond to him.

"I'm sorry Ashley, but he's a Secret Service agent. And as a Secret Service agent, he has to go one missions. This is his mission. He has to go," Graham said to her calmly. He was oddly relaxed. Usually his daughter made him uncomfortable because she was his daughter, not another government official. But now…he felt like he was actually in charge again. Where did that burst of power come from? A suddenly cold thought filled his mind and he turned in his chair to his right, where his tall Secret Service agent stood like a statue. "James, escort my daughter out of the Oval Office and to her room please."

The agent nodded and started towards Ashley. He calmly motioned for her to follow him but the look on the young woman's face was one of hatred and betrayal. Graham simply smiled at her as she left, while his brain unconsciously questioned what the hell had just happened.

---New York City, New York March 9th 2008---

It was about five when Sheva finally called him back. Chris had been thinking about what he wanted to eat that night, Salisbury steak TV dinner or chicken fried steak TV dinner, when the phone started ringing behind him. However, feeling oddly lazy, he decided to let the phone ring. He just didn't feel like bothering to answer the phone, and if it was important, they'd leave a message anyway. That was, he didn't want to answer the phone until Sheva's voice filled his apartment.

"Hey Chris, I was just returning your call… Looks like luck is not on our side today, hm? Well… You know, I just remembered something. You owe me an explanation as to how you 'more than pissed off' Wesker. I'm still holding you to that. Well, I hope you can call me back soon. I'll…I'll talk to you then. Bye."

Chris cringed and started for the phone, prepared to call her back immediately. But right as his hand hovered in the air above the phone, he forced himself to stop. What was he doing? The only reason he'd called Sheva in the first place was because he was worried that she'd begun to have nightmares, things that had attacked him right after he left for Europe and was all alone. He didn't want Sheva to have to face the same. But he was acting like he had to call her back at the very moment. Why?

The phone decided to start ringing again, its annoying tone making the B.S.A.A. agent cringe bitterly. But he calmly reached out and scooped up the receiver. Something inside him hoped it was Jill, while something else hoped it was Sheva. He placed it next to his ear but before he could even speak, somebody did instead.

"You think it's all over don't you?" a voice, neither male nor female nor deep nor high pitched, asked. "You think that Wesker's death marks the end of bioterrorism? You're wrong. And I'll prove that you're wrong."

"Who the hell-" Chris started to snarl furiously but a light click on the other end of the line silenced him. He frowned deeply and started to set the phone down. Who the hell was that? And how did they have his number? Like most connected with the government, his number wasn't made public. He didn't exist according to phonebooks. His medical records were classified. So, how would somebody get his number?

As soon as he thought about contacting somebody and telling them about the problem, Chris' first instinct was to call Jill, as he always had before her supposed death. But something nudged him in the direction of calling Sheva instead. He guessed it was because Jill was in the B.S.A.A. headquarters and didn't really have her own personal number. As he started to dial Sheva's number, he highly doubted that was the reason.

Sheva answered on the second ring, sounding quite out of breath as she said, "Hello?" He almost smiled. Had she run to get the phone? He did want to quit with the phone tag thing.

"Hey Sheva, sorry I missed your call. The ever elusive dinner escaped me once again and I couldn't exactly get to the phone…in…time." He trailed off towards the end, realizing he was just trying to buy time. He didn't like the idea of a terrorist calling him. And he really didn't like bringing Sheva into it. "Um…look….I know this is going to sound weird but… I think a terrorist just called me," he said, his voice turning serious quite quickly.

"What?" Sheva asked, obviously just as confused as he was. "Why would a terrorist… How do you know it was a terrorist?" How did he know? He replayed the conversation in his he and frowned.

"He…she…they said 'you think it's all over don't you? You think that Wesker's death marks the end of…bioterrorism I think? You're wrong. And I'll prove that you're wrong.' Does that not sound like a terrorist?" he asked, running a hand through his short, dark hair. He could imagine that Sheva was leaning up against something by now, staring blankly into her apartment and thinking. She'd done that once during Kijuju, when they'd thought about which path to take in the pitch black mines.

"It does but…why would they call you?" she asked. "Why wouldn't they call the government? Or even the B.S.A.A. in general? That makes no sense…" He nodded, forgetting that he was speaking to her on the phone. She was right. It made no sense that the terrorist would call him instead of people who could actually do something about it. Unless…

"I think that was the point," Chris said, not really to Sheva. "I think…I think they wanted somebody without much power, but somebody who's pretty trusted, to get a call about it, cause a mass panic throughout the country somehow, and then their job would be done. But…who would do that? Not even Wesker could survive that volcano. And his followers are mostly hiding. They wouldn't out themselves so quickly. But…"

"Did you try calling the number back?" Sheva suddenly asked, snapping him out of his monologue. He felt like slapping himself. Any good agent knows to call the person back. He blamed it on lack of any real sleep.

"Eh..heh…no. I'll do that right now. I'll call you back afterwards." She said okay and they hung up. Chris quickly found the number in his phone's caller ID and pressed the call button. After two or three rings, a computer voice greeted him.

"The number you have called is invalid. Please try again."

---Fairbanks, Alaska March 10th 2008---

Something was wrong with the city. The police knew it. They'd even called in the government to help. But they weren't telling the city dwellers the truth. There was something out there. And he knew it.

They called him crazy. They said he was a conspiracy theorist. Well, of course he was! The entire world was made of conspiracies. Like the thing about landing on the moon. Or the JFK assassination. But this one was worse.

"But the question is, what's killin' folks?" Mary, his cousin, had asked him at dinner three hours earlier. "Come on, nobody will believe you if you don't give them some kind of proof that some_thing_ instead of some_body _is killin' people, Drew."

He'd simply shrugged and told her that he would find the thing that was killing people. That's why he was out in the middle of a small forest, which wasn't truly a forest, looking for things in the dead of the night. The world around him was silent, since all of the animals were sleeping or still hibernating. The moon was blocked from view by thick clouds that had swept in earlier that day. Drew wasn't worried though. The dark didn't frighten him.

"I'll find you," he whispered to whatever was lurking in the forest. His breath bloomed out as a small white cloud and the mind numbing cold decided to start its way through his seal fur parka and elk skin pants. He wondered if the city's "monster" was causing the winter temperatures to stay longer than usual. It was cold this time of year. But not this cold.

Drew stepped on a fallen branch and when the wood cracked under his weight, it sounded like a gun going off. He froze, wondering if he'd just doomed himself. But the forest remained still and quiet around him. Except…

An odd chitterling noise filled the air and he looked around, his eyes trying to find any light. The noise was getting closer and Drew stumbled back. He could always come back in the daytime. With his Alaskan Malamute. And his 12 gauge.

He turned, prepared to run even if it did made him look like a coward, and smacked into the chest of a person. As he was pushed away roughly, he nearly screamed, but a harsh voice snarled, "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Drew looked up into the man's face and realized it was a cop. He looked like he was wearing an Anchorage uniform, which was incredibly weird. Not only was Anchorage on a police shortage lately but Fairbanks was practically half a state away from the bigger city. His presence in a Fairbanks forest made no sense.

"Uh…nothing. I'm leaving," Drew stammered out. He turned and started out of the forest, his footsteps faster than usual. Something was off about that cop. Not only the oddity of his uniform but something was…wrong. His eyes seemed to glow, almost like he was possessed by some kind of demon or something.

And had Drew looked back, he would've seen the cop's eyes narrow darkly as his hand reached for the firearm on his hip.

---Washington D.C., March 10th 2008---

"Leon?" Hunnigan asked through her headset, staring at the blank computer screen before her. For some reason, the connection wasn't going through and she couldn't get a hold of Leon. The screen was just a dull grey, almost like it was picking up video from Leon's pocket or something. "Come on, answer me," she breathed bitterly.

"Problems?" an unfamiliar voice asked. She turned around to see a man clad in Secret Service gear standing by the door. The room around her was all light grey and he stood out like a sore thumb in his ebony colored suit. His stern face revealed no major emotions. "The President wants to know if he landed yet."

"The plane made it. I got confirmation of such from Anchorage's airport. But I can't get through to Leon. The signal's jammed or something," she explained, turning back to her computer. She typed in a couple of commands and the computer screen went from blank to colorful. It was a map of Alaska, detailed to a fault. Every forest, lake, mountain, and tundra was detailed greatly on the map. "I have to send this to Leon but if the signal's jammed it may not work."

"Try it anyway," the agent ordered. She didn't like him being there. Something about him bothered her. Then again, Secret Service had always bothered her, though Leon had been an exception for the most part. They were statues one second and agile killers the next. But the order was there and she had to obey. She typed in more commands and the man was sent to Leon's PDA.

"Tell the President I'll call the hotel and try to get into contact with him there," she told the agent behind her. When he didn't respond, she swirled around in her chair and noticed that he wasn't there. He'd come and gone like a ghost. She shook her head. She really didn't like Secret Service.

---En route to Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

The President, as if to make up for Leon going to Alaska in the first place, did two tings. One, he got Leon a seat in the 'first class' section of the Boeing 737 airplane that was taking him to Alaska. And two, he somehow changed the airlines so that the 737 was heading directly to Alaska. Leon hoped that the plane had enough fuel to make the cross country trip.

The agent was forcing himself to relax in the cushy seat, his eyes closed and his breathing calm. It probably looked like he was asleep. The only thing that probably looked odd was his right hand which was tucked into his thick, black leather jacket and clutched his standard issue USP. The President had also given him the go-ahead to board the plane with the gun, which Leon was thankful for.

The flight had been mostly uneventful except for a couple stewardesses trying to flirt with him. Typically, he would've offered them a smile or a couple of kind words but the mission was a serious one, which made him deadly serious in return.

But thinking about those stewardesses made him think about his horrible relationships. Oddly, he thought about his girlfriend in high school, who dumped him right before Raccoon City. According to their families, he and she were destined to be together. But she broke his heart. And although that had saved him, forcing him to run late to work after getting so drunk he couldn't walk, he didn't forgive her for breaking his heart. Especially not before Raccoon City. No…that city's heartbreak had been…

The six years between Raccoon City and his deadly mission in Spain, his two biggest biohazard incidents to date, had been the worst years of his life when it came to dating. He'd dated several women, some of which who were police or government, and none of them lasted more than a month. Whether it was because of the governmental secrets, not including his 'red secret,' or his mostly distant attitude he didn't truly know. He'd given up dating right before he was put into the Secret Service, right before that damned mission in Spain. Where a certain somebody decided to…

The year between Spain and the Harvardville incident, his love life had been quite uneventful thanks to a certain secret. The secret had reminded him of his forced, and failed, attempts to move on and for that he felt terrible, like he was a monster for doing such. In reality, he'd just been any normal person, looking for contact. Though he still didn't think that condoned what he did…

After Harvardville, Angela Miller had tried a relationship with him. But, after a month, she got sick and tired of his constant distance. After two months, she got upset over all of the secrets. After three months, she completely stopped talking to him. He gave her credit. She was the longest lasting. But she didn't last long enough.

He went through two more years of forced loneliness. But only about a year ago, something happened that had nearly ruined everything he'd built up through the decade since Raccoon City. And that had marked the beginning of his belief that he'd always be alone. No matter how long or hard he looked for…

He shook his head, erasing all of those thoughts. He was truly pathetic when it came down to it. And although he always blamed his failed relationships on his job, and all of its secrecy and missions, he knew it wasn't really because of the Secret Service. It was because of-

"We'll be landing in Anchorage in half an hour. When the seatbelt sign lights up, please buckle your seatbelt tightly," the captain ordered through the plane's speakers. He sounded like he really had control over the situation, which was a good thing Leon guessed. After all, if he didn't have control over the plane, they were all doomed. Wouldn't that be anticlimactic?

The agent shook his head again. Lack of sleep was screwing with him again. He sighed softly and rubbed at his closed eyes with his left hand. He needed to stop thinking altogether. He wasn't getting paid to think about his failed love life or the captain's control of the plane. He was already suffering pay consequences thanks to Hunnigan. It was all _her _fault. Had he just not spent the majority of the past decade searching-

"Stop," he snarled softly to himself. "Just…stop…" The thoughts seemed to shrink away, finally, and he felt himself relax a little more. Not that he was truly relaxed. His muscles were still tensed up, just in case he had to spring to his feet and stop something from happening. He just hoped he wouldn't have to.

The final short stretch of the flight was boring, thirty minutes of sitting and either trying to sleep or staring at the pattern in the back of the chair before him. When the plane touched down and people started to get their carryon bags, Leon stood and stretched his sore limbs before exiting the plane. As soon as he was in the airport, he started for the exit. The President had made them, the police he guessed, send all of his things to the hotel he'd be staying at.

A rush of cold, fresh Alaska air greeted him as he exited the airport, stepping through the glass doors and almost into a foreign world. The crisp air didn't reek of exhaust fumes and garbage like he was used to smelling in big cities. Of course, most big cities didn't find temperatures like 30 below common, like Anchorage did.

Leon's pale blue eyes scanned the expansive parking lot for any out of place police officer. Instead of finding a squad car and a stern faced cop, he found a beat up Dodge SUV sitting in the pick-up zone with a man standing near it in a sheriff's uniform. The agent was impressed to see the man on guard, to say the least. Even more so when the sheriff noticed him and walked over.

"You the agent from the White House?" the man questioned, his dark brown hair cut short and out of his face. Surprisingly, his face was clean shaven, which was rare for an artic state. Leon noted that the man was completely on guard, his voice even taking a suspicious tone to it. But the agent remained calm and nodded. "My name's Frederick McNaulty, I'm the sheriff of Anchorage. I was going to take you right to the port but…something came up that… Well, you need to take a look at it."

Leon made himself remain emotionless on the outside, even though he really wanted to frown. It was never a good sign when they said things like that. It typically meant they had another incident, which would just confirm that it was more than likely a bioterrorism incident. He simply nodded again in response to Frederick's statement.

He followed the older man back to his SUV and they climbed into the vehicle. It reeked of gunpowder and steel, Leon noted. He silently wondered how long the old truck had been in use. But then he noticed that he felt like he was being watched. He could almost feel the man's eyes on him and waited. Finally, Frederick softly asked, "What's going on in my city?"

Leon looked over at him, almost wanting to assure the man that nothing was going on, but instead he had to play the government role. He had to be stoic and not care. So, he responded in the only way he could. "I don't know."

---New York City, New York March 10th 2008---

Sheva was worried to say the least. They'd just gotten home from a terrible terrorist incident and now they were dealing with a man who wanted to prove that bioterrorism isn't dead? She was officially regretting being in the B.S.A.A. Sure, fighting bad guys and saving the day was good but when she had to fear for her life and never sleep because of terrorist, she hated it.

The phone rang, its ringer as annoying as always, and she practically dived on it, breathing out, "Hello?" She knew she should be calm, especially after what she'd just gone through. But she couldn't help herself.

"The number's invalid," Chris said, his voice sounding quite disheartened. She cringed and rubbed her face with her free hand. How could somebody cancel their number that quickly? This person knew what they were doing.  
"So, what do we do?" she asked gently. Chris, she guessed, had more of a plan than she did. Although she was just as quick as him when it came to thinking up ideas, he was the one who'd gotten the call and he'd probably spent time thinking about it, even if it was only a few minutes.

"I don't know, honestly… Shit. The President. I can talk to the President about it." What? "I didn't tell you… Today, at the meeting…wait…you missed it. Why weren't you at the meeting, Sheva?"

"I…I just couldn't bring myself to see those people… Chris, they condemned us to death! They were willing to sacrifice us as long as Irving was brought down. I just…I couldn't see those people. Not after what they did." It was true. After the stunt HQ had pulled in Kijuju, she hadn't been able to force herself to go to the meeting. She regretted not doing such, though. Apparently she'd missed something important. "The President? You were talking about the President. As in the United States President?"

Chris seemed okay with her answer about missing the meeting because he said, "Yeah, the one and only. He talked to me during my speech, talked about the Wesker Children and everything. He wants to meet me Tuesday. That's…two days from now. Do you think… Maybe I should try and contact him before that."

"How do you contact the most protected man alive?" she asked. Secretly, she was curious about why the President would be at a simple B.S.A.A. meeting but she guessed that didn't matter. Not right now at least.  
"I don't… Wait… My sister knows a government agent. Kennedy. The guy that dealt with Las Plagas before us. Maybe-"

Before Sheva knew what was happening, her apartment was filled with thick smoke and the phone line was cut off with a loud popping noise. She coughed and gagged as the smoke filled her lungs and the receiver slid out of her hands. Her eyes watered viciously but even with the tears blurring her vision she saw the black figures moving towards her.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

A huge crowd had gathered around the husky owner's backyard. The police had tape up and their hands were raised to block the cameras, denying the press access to the site in the backyard. Even with freedom of the press, the gruesome scene was just too much for any public viewing. Luckily, it had been mostly blocked off from sight with tarps and officers.

All but one of the runaway dogs had been gathered and were packed into a K-9 van that was emptied of all its dogs. The doors had been left open so they could get their usual fresh air and from her position on the roof with her back against the chimney so nobody could see her, she noticed that the huskies were pacing with their ears flattened against their heads and their tails tucked up against their bellies. They were petrified, that much was obvious. And the K-9 handlers knew this too. They gave the dogs worried looks every now and then, their eyes showing their confusion at the animals' attitudes. Oddly enough, even with the doors wide open, the dogs didn't try to escape the K-9 van. They were free to go but their fear kept them in place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave for an hour. Come back and you'll get your interviews and everything," a cop boomed through a megaphone suddenly. The press and the civilians were obviously upset about such an idea but they slowly shuffled away, their feet dragging much like a child would after being told to go to school instead of stay home. She shook her head at them. People these days… As soon as they were gone, the police immediately filled their places and she smiled. The APD was smart. She liked that about them. Then again, to live in a world like Alaska, they had to be smart just to survive.

"What exactly did you want to show me?" a familiar voice asked. She froze, feeling like every movement in her had halted, especially her heart. That voice…. She moved slightly closer to the edge of the chimney and carefully peeked around the edge. Sure enough, standing in the middle of the snow covered backyard was a tall man with ash blond hair. He was looking at the sheriff of Anchorage as the older man walked up.

"Do you know what temperature blood freezes at?" the sheriff questioned. She looked his face over, her keen eyes picking up slight detail even from her distance. The agent, for that's what he was, looked exhausted. His eyes were as calm as always but he looked tired. And underfed. Like usual.

"Um…no," the agent replied, obviously a little confused at the question. She agreed with the man, though she knew what the sheriff was going to show him. After all, she'd been the one to find the body, after finding two huskies in the snow, and call it in to the local police. But the fact that he was talking about blood's freezing temperature was odd.

"Well, I'm certain you know that blood retains some heat from its body even after exiting for a short period of time, right?" the sheriff, Frederick she thought his name was, asked. The agent nodded, a perplexed look on his ever youthful face. "And I'm certain you know that Anchorage is cold at night year round but we start hitting the… How would I say this… Well, March typically marks our change in cold. During the winter months, its mind numbingly cold. During March we start getting to the just cold temperatures. But this month, we've been just…horribly cold. Well…I digress. I just wanted to see if you knew what temperature blood freezes at." The sheriff motioned for the agent to stay still and walked over to what seemed like some kind of rock or something covered in a black tarp.

"What does this have to do with the incident in the port?" the blond man questioned. She might've agreed with him, might've even asked that herself, had she not been the one to find the body.

"Look," the sheriff said and tugged the tarp away. Even the agent looked startled. And she had to agree. It was grotesque to say the least. The dogs were right to be afraid. "I'd say it has something to do with the port, huh?"

"Yeah," the agent mumbled, his face revealing recognition. She smiled sadly. It had taken her a few seconds to recognize it too but when she had… She shook her head. Although he knew nothing about what was going on, and she only knew some facts, she knew exactly what had to happen. She wasn't about to let the world fall in a flaming ruin because of a bug. They'd done it once. They could do it again.

"Looks like it's time for us to team up again, Leon," the assassin named Ada whispered to the agent standing down below.


	4. Chapter 4

No Leaf Clover

A/N: Dragonthunder89- I can't really answer your question yet. For reasons you will all understand later.

_Don't it feel right like this?  
__All the pieces fall to his wish.  
_"_Sucker for that quick reward boy,  
__Sucker for that quick reward," they say._

---Unknown Location, March 10th 2008---

"Sheva Alomar, correct?" a stern faced man in a black suit questioned. His eyes were emotionless, his jaw set, and his face lacking any major emotions other than a slight raise of an eyebrow every now and then. She glared at him darkly before turning her face away and didn't speak. She swallowed, almost cringing at the small pain that appeared in her dry throat. Her back, stiff from its odd position in the chair, throbbed dully.

When they'd first dragged her in, blindfolded and dazed from what was occurring, they had her handcuffed to a chair in a wide room and had freed her eyes from the black cloth that had served as her blindfold. The room had been, and still was, dimly lit and a dull grey. A huge mirror sat before her and she just knew people stood on the other side, their eyes picking her to pieces as she sat. The stern faced man, the only person she'd seen since having the blindfold removed, stood near the only door in the room, which was to her left. "Come now, Miss Alomar. This will only be difficult if you make it such."

She refused to speak. Whoever this asshole was, she wasn't about to answer his questions. She didn't trust him, especially since they'd kidnapped her. There was no other word to describe what had happened. After they'd broken into her apartment and used the smoke grenade, she'd held her hands above her head in surrender, too tired and too smart to fight armed men, and they'd cuffed and blindfolded her. All she knew was that wherever she now was had to be far enough away to drive for at least half an hour. She'd counted the minutes out of boredom and fear.

"You're not going to speak, Miss Alomar?" the man questioned, walking over to her. He didn't frighten her. Not really, not in the way that made her heart speed up and her palms damped with sweat. She was honestly more afraid for Chris. Had they gotten to him too? Or was he safe and sound? Had they just cut the phone line to scare her? Or had the phone line not been cut, had Chris just been taken out? She had to hope, no, pray that that he was okay, just curious about why she'd suddenly stopped talking. Though, if she knew Chris, he wouldn't settle for that. "Fine," he said, sounding slightly saddened. He brought his hand up to his ear in a familiar gesture, obviously pressing down on a small radio headset in his ear, and gently said, "Bring him in."

In a second, the door opened and a furious looking Chris Redfield was dragged in by two large men. Sheva, though glad to see him healthy and fine, felt her heart drop at the sight of him thrashing wildly in a vain attempt to escape the two men that were holding him. Both were dressed in suits, of which were very similar to the stern faced man. And she noticed small, black earpieces in their ears.

"Now, maybe you'll speak Miss Alomar," the stern faced man said calmly as he walked towards Chris, his hand dipping into his jacket. Sheva's eyes met Chris' and he offered her a weak attempt at a smile. She tried to give him one back but found she couldn't. She was just too confused and too bothered by the situation. And she hoped that somehow her eyes told Chris how sorry she was for what she was about to do.

"What do you want?" she finally snapped, startling herself by the blatant hatred in her voice. The stern faced man looked back at her with a shocked but pleased smile, that didn't seem to belong, on his face. "Why did you capture us and bring us here?"

"My name is Ronald Makerson of the United States Secret Service. I was given orders, by the President himself, that you two and Miss Valentine are to be sent on a mission," the man said, the smile on his face slowly making Sheva more and more uncomfortable. Something was off about his smile.

"Secret Service?" Chris whispered, astonishment lacing his voice. Sheva wanted to give the man an incredulous look, one that she hoped showed how much she didn't believe him. Last time she checked, Secret Service didn't announce their titles unless it was to the President. Then again, that was possibly the point of saying his full title, name and all. Maybe he was trying to make them special or something. Or to maybe confuse them. Or to trick them. She shook her head at her thoughts, trying to focus solely on the situation.

"Why would the President want us to go on this mission?" Sheva questioned. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that the men holding Chris had abruptly let him go. Chris rubbed at his arms absently while staring at the man who had apparently started this whole thing. One of the men walked over and freed her. She carefully rubbed her wrists and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to rid the pain in them.

"You're the best. And you're the only ones who have true experience with Las Plagas," Makerson calmly explained. His voice said otherwise, though. Something was off about him. Very off. Sheva looked over at Chris, who was watching Makerson with questioning eyes. "I'll give you two time to talk. Jill should be here soon." And with that, he and the other two men left the room, leaving Sheva and Chris alone.

Sheva, thinking only for her friend's health, immediately asked, "Are you alright?" Chris nodded vacantly and she could only guess that he was thinking about what was going on. He looked highly suspicious. "What is it Chris?"

"Remember the government agent I mentioned right before all this shit happened, the one my sister knows?" This time, she was the one to nod. "He wrote the Kennedy Report, Sheva. He has more experience with Las Plagas than anybody, even us."

A scowl flickered across her lips but she forced herself to shrug. "Maybe Makerson meant Type 2 Las Plagas. Kennedy didn't deal with them. At least, not that I saw in the report." That made enough sense. But it was obvious by the look on Chris' face that he didn't buy it.

"Something's not right though," Chris argued, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked as tired as Sheva felt and his face was even more rugged than their mission in Africa, when his face had been covered in a short stubble. "Last time I checked, Secret Service were more…secretive and they didn't just go around kidnapping people. But maybe that's just what I've seen and learned."

Sheva started to reply, her lips parted slightly, when the door opened and a woman Sheva barely knew walked in calmly. Jill's hair, instead of the platinum blonde it had been in Africa, was now brunette. It seemed that Jill had decided to dye her hair back to its original color, from before her time spent under Wesker's hand.

"Chris!" Jill said happily upon spotting the large man. She instantly walked over to her friend, a wide smile on her lips. They shared a quick hug, arms wrapped around each other in a familiar gesture, and Sheva felt her teeth smash together angrily. Jill then acknowledged the other woman in the room with a smile as wide as the one she'd offered Chris. "Sheva, it's good to see you again." Sheva simply nodded and smiled in return. She knew she shouldn't be so upset but she couldn't honestly help herself. After Sheva's smile, Jill looked to Chris and nonchalantly asked, "What's going on?"

The only man in the room laughed bitterly, his brow wrinkled in anger, and said, "It's a long story."

---Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

Leon officially understood why the sheriff had brought up blood's freezing temperature. The woman, not too old and not too young, was kneeling like she was in prayer but had something stuck on her chest. It was the parasitic organism known as Las Plagas. It was hard to see, however, because of the liquid turned ice that had froze the two of them together. And that liquid was blood.

The crimson liquid had poured from a large gash in her throat and down the front of both her and the creature. The blood freezing had apparently killed her before the loss of blood had, since she'd hardly bled enough to kill her. And although she'd died, the blood had also frozen the monster completely and stopped it from ever killing again. And even the adaptable Las Plagas couldn't take the Alaskan subzero temperatures.

"Las Plagas popsicle," he mumbled bitterly, trying to make himself relax in the lonely yard. The sheriff had been called away by fellow officers about something going on in Anchorage, as had the ones surrounding the yard, leaving the blond agent alone. And although he'd dealt with these kinds of things before, he didn't particularly like being alone near a frozen parasite and human popsicle. It was just upsetting, even to him.

"That was terrible, handsome," a dreadfully familiar voice purred behind him. He cringed and the muscles in his shoulders tensed angrily. He silently begged that he was hearing things and that she wasn't truly there. But he knew he wasn't _that _crazy.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled, skipping the playful banter they usually had. He couldn't help the anger building in him that was overpowering the typical excitement that bloomed in him when he saw, even when he tried to control it. And the anger was quite justified since every time he met her, she left him with less of his heart than before. And he was sick of it.

"It's good to see you too, Leon," she purred and he could just hear the smile in her voice. He turned to face her and swallowed. How was it that even when she was wearing thick, concealing clothes like a parka and loose jeans she was still the most stunning woman he'd ever seen?

"It might be nice to see you but after-"

Before he could finish, the raven haired woman stated with a dead serious face instead of her typical smirks, "You're the one who left me. I should be the upset one. After all, that's my job. I'm supposed to run away the morning after. Not you."

He cringed and let his eyes drop and land on the cold, snow covered world beneath his boots. But those emerald colored eyes of hers were burning into his skin, scrutinizing him. She was always breaking him down with her eyes. Damn her eyes.

"Do you know what's going on?" he finally questioned, looking at her again. When their eyes met, he knew exactly what she was going to do. She was tricky but she had her moments of predictability. She ran a hand through her short hair, the black locks parting for her fingers like water around a boat, and offered him a sly smile. "Right… When do you now know what's going on?" She shrugged at his question and stalked past him, exaggerating the swing in her hips. Her hand brushed his playfully and he could almost imagine he felt his skin tingle where she touched him. He watched her carefully, moving his entire body around, again, just to keep his eyes on her.

"I can't tell you everything here. It's not a secured location, after all. We'll have to meet somewhere… How about… Your place?" He looked at her and frowned, mostly out of confusion but also out of displeasure at something. "Last time we went to my place, things got…out of hand…"

He sighed, the frown fading from his lips, and shook his head. "Let me guess, you magically know where I'm staying?" She smiled at him, almost amiably really, and didn't have to say yes or no. He just knew the answer. "Right. Fine. Tonight. Seven o'clock." She nodded and walked past him. This time, he didn't bother to watch her. He knew what she was going to do. But, after five minutes of staring blankly at the snowy world, he turned and looked at the once again empty backyard. As soon as she'd appeared, she was gone.

---Unalaska, Aleutian Islands March 10th 2008---

Robbie was not having a good day.

After waking up and walking into the bathroom, he'd smacked his knee into his toilet with a sickening noise. This had awoken his girlfriend and an argument had burst forth, with words such as 'whore' and 'dick' being thrown around, all the while his knee had been throbbing and turning a nasty purple color. He'd left the house and had almost had three car accidents thanks to people's reckless driving. Unalaska's streets had been abnormally busy. Then, after entering work, he'd been berated for hours on end for leaving one of the computers online. He didn't get what was so important. It's not like the government could hack into their computers.

"Tricell's terrible," he mumbled for the eighth time to one of his only friends at his job, Tracy. A pretty girl, she was only a couple years younger than he but had been at Tricell for a much greater period of time. In response to his statement, Tracy smiled at him. "Umbrella was much better. They were better organized." Tracy nodded in agreement. "Old man Spencer… His methods made more sense. I mean, after Raccoon City, he made everybody who was related to Umbrella leave the U.S. The dumbfucks who run Tricell are pushing their luck by straying in Africa." Tracy gave him an agreeing look.

"Hey Robbie," another worker, Don, called. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance to the rec-room. Don was everything Robbie wanted to be. He was tanned, tall, blond, and smart. Robbie was gaining a couple pounds around the midsection, his skin was pasty white, his hair was lifeless and shit brown, and he was only of average intelligence. But Don was a nice guy. Robbie got along with him well enough. "Talkin' to that thing of yours? Well, the big boss wants you to see if you can hack into Wesker's old base on the Aleutians."

"Which one?" Robbie questioned, patting Tracy's hand. She was very shy and didn't like communicating with others. And Robbie didn't bother asking why they wanted Wesker's stuff from the bases. Tricell was taking everything Umbrella and Wesker had. They wanted the weapons. They wanted the godhood.

"I don't know. Assholes didn't say. I guess you're just s'posed to know or some shit," Don replied with a shrug. Nobody who worked for Tricell held any respect for the big bosses. Especially not the ones who were sent on wild goose chases, like most of them were.

"Damn. Well, I'm guessing it's one of the uninhabited ones, since that's the ones that freak liked. I swear, he's lucky the bases weren't found by the military because of that storm. Whatever… I'll check it out." Don nodded gratefully and left. Robbie turned to Tracy and smiled. "What do you say we check on the Red Queen?" Tracy smiled.

---Unknown Location, March 10th 2008---

They'd been moved from the grey room and into another one. This one was slightly different though, since it had a table in it and Makerson motioned for them to sit. Mission briefing, Chris had guessed. After settling into their seats, Chris' doubt about the situation became overpowering and it truly took all of his willpower to make the doubt stay out of his mind for a few minutes.

"Where's the mission at?" Jill questioned, staring at the 'Secret Service' agent. Makerson smiled at her stiffly, obviously ignoring the dark tones in Jill's voice, though Chris shifted uncomfortably. Her suspicion was obvious. At least Chris and Sheva acted like they trusted the man. Jill was treating him like he was nothing more than a stupid street cop. They all knew that to keep their lives going strong, they had to put on their best acting skills. Well, Jill wasn't bothering to do that.

"Something's happening in Anchorage and we're sending you three up there," Makerson explained. Immediately, all thoughts of Jill's obvious distrust of the man vanished and Chris stared at the man with wide eyes while Jill gaped at him. Sheva looked quite upset as well, her brow wrinkling at the man's statement.

"Alaska?" she asked bitterly. "That's not exactly my choice of vacation." Makerson simply smiled at her, which appeared to be his new favorite thing to do. Chris didn't see what was so funny about the situation, though. He agreed with Sheva. Alaska was not where he wanted to go. And he didn't think he would be going, even if this Secret Service agent tried to make him.

"Doesn't the heat get annoying?" he queried, his fingers entwining with each other as he placed his palms together on the table. "Try out the cold for a little while. Anyway, Anchorage has been encountering problems, such as unexplained deaths. We're sending you three in to find out what's wrong."

"Why not send in somebody who didn't just get home from a very exhausting mission?" Chris asked gently. Makerson have him an exasperated look and the B.S.A.A. agent knew he'd already answered this question.

"How many times do I have to say that you guys are the best? Will you take the mission?" Chris almost immediately wanted to stand and snarl no but something about the way Makerson's eyes suddenly narrowed dangerously shut him up. Though he didn't agree with why they were being sent in, he doubted his opinion on such mattered to the agent.

Sheva leaned over, close enough for her hair to brush his face, and as softly as she could whispered, "Do we get a choice? Either we take the mission or they make us disappear. I doubt we'd leave here alive if we said no."

Chris nodded in agreement with everything she said, hatred threatening to spring to life in him. "Fine," he said, staring Makerson in the eye in an attempt to show his lack of fear. "We'll take the mission."

---Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

Almost immediately after his surprise guest had appeared, Frederick had returned to grab Leon and take him to the port. The agent explained that they needed to put the woman and her odd companion in a morgue, one that kept its bodies frozen at extremely low levels. Frederick had spoken into his radio quickly and then taken Leon to his truck.

The drive through Anchorage had been surprising. When Frederick had taken him to the woman's house, the agent had gotten a look at the outskirts of Anchorage. But, as Frederick took him to the port, he got to see the guts of the city and all of its glory. Anchorage was…pretty to say the least. Its buildings were big but not New York sized. Its streets were spaced properly and although not very many people were driving, the few that were obviously knew how to drive on icy roads. Leon hadn't ever thought of Alaska as a backwater nothingness but after seeing Anchorage, he doubted he'd ever be able to imagine people's description of an 'unpopulated nothingness.'

When they finally arrived at the port, Leon got his next surprise. The port was surprisingly huge. Leon had expected something big but not exactly what he was seeing here. Big tankers and cargo ships were being led out by police and what seemed to be military boats. He guessed they were being led to a different section of the port for safety precautions. And to keep them from spreading the word to everybody that Alaska was having nasty problems. As the third biggest port in the world, the Port of Anchorage couldn't afford a 'monster' in its waters.

"So, the kid seems to have been pulled in by something?" Leon asked as he and Frederick walked towards the crime scene. Ice crunched under their boats and Leon could see his breath. It was even colder at the port than at that woman's house. "And you're certain he didn't fall into the water? There's ice everywhere…"

"They were both wearing boots designed to grip the ice. But the people who examined the area said that it seems more likely that he slipped than was pulled in but… Roderick wouldn't lie. And he really had no reason to lie. And…you're not going to believe me so…" Leon heard the resignation in the older man's voice. He guessed Frederick was starting to believe that it was all some stupid mistake on the kid's part, not a monster.

"No, I believe you," Leon somberly replied. It was true that he didn't want to believe the sheriff. That was easier, and safer, and it promised him a quick escape from Alaska. But the facts were there. Las Plagas was obviously in the state. It made sense for something to be in the water that was related to, or really was, Las Plagas. Or some kid had terrible luck, and terrible timing, and his death just happened to occur around the same time as the woman's death. "I was sent here for a reason. I'm technically not allowed to tell you this but… That thing that was frozen to that woman is a parasitic organism known as Las Plagas. I encountered it for the first time four years ago and since then… I'm the one they turn to for major biohazard incidents."

"Las Plagas? Wait… Is this thing fucking with my state?" Frederick asked, apparently not caring that Leon was breaking every rule known to government officials by telling him about Las Plagas. The man instantly looked anxious and furious. And even though he was supposed to be emotionless and not feel anything, Leon understood both of those emotions.

"It's unlikely that Las Plagas managed to migrate to Alaska. It originated in Spain," Leon started to explain. Realization dawned on Frederick's face and a rush of wind pushed at them suddenly as if to accentuate that another hand was playing the game too.

"Terrorists?" If the government knew what Leon was telling this man, they'd put him in Guantanamo Bay in a split second. But, without a single ounce of concern for himself, Leon nodded. "Fuck me!" the sheriff laughed, one hand running through his hair. "Is there-"

"Confirmation?" Leon interrupted in an attempt to speed things up. They needed to examine the port, not talk. The sheriff nodded. "No, not really. That's pretty much why I was sent up. I need to stop the parasite, even if it's not here because of terrorists. If there are terrorists, I have to deal with them too."

"That's a lot to handle, even for a super agent like you," the sheriff remarked. Leon thought about the woman who'd spoken to him and their planned meeting that night. Whatever her plan was, he had to hope that she was trying to help him, not hinder him. He sighed, bobbing his head up and down slightly in a nod.

"Yeah, I know."

---Unalaska, Aleutian Island March 10th 2008---

"Find anything Robbie?" Don asked, peering into the room. Robbie looked over his shoulder at the other man and gave him a toothy grin. Don's eyes lit up excitedly. "Yes? That's awesome man. Now the big boss will get off my ass."

"I've narrowed it down at least," Robbie said, typing in the last word of a list he'd been making. He clicked on the print button and the machine next to him immediately whirred to life. Tricell sucked but they had the best technology. "I'll print out the list of the most likely though. I personally believe that the most likely island would be Buldir."

"Why?" Don asked as he walked over. He stopped and stood at the printer, which was spewing out sheets of ink covered paper, and looked down at Robbie with calm but questioning eyes. "Out of all of the islands, why the bird one?"

"That's just it. Umbrella wanted more aerial bioweapons. Wesker mimicked a lot of Umbrella's experiments. Think about it. Besides, Buldir's empty. Nobody's inhabited it because of those birds. Even the Aleuts. Anyway… Just present that list to the big boss and you should be fine. Come on Tracy, I'll take you to your room."

As Don's printer continued with a constant stream of paper, Robbie and Tracy left the room. They stepped into the wide, lifeless hallways and Robbie groaned. He'd stayed late again. That meant more bitching from his girlfriend. Though, he supposed that did bring up the possibility of make-up sex, which wasn't too bad. He and Tracy headed down the hallway right when Tracy stopped, every muscle in her body locking, and she sniffed at the air much like a dog would when it was hunting. He frowned, not really thinking anything of it since he guessed it was probably just somebody walking through the halls. He started to turn when a soft noise, like a muffled gunshot almost, filled the air and the world went black.

Robbie was _not _having a good day.

---En route to Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

"So…" Jill said in a slight attempt to start a conversation. Sheva looked over at her with pale grey eyes. The two women were alone since Chris had gone to the bathroom for what had to be the eighth time since the plane had taken off. The plane, a 737 that was flying to Anchorage after taking off from a Canadian airport, rocked every now and then as the rough weather outside knocked them about. Apparently, turbulence made Chris' bladder weaken incredibly.

"Something's wrong," Sheva said, deciding to turn the conversation towards their mission. Jill nodded in agreement, brushing her brunette hair out of her eyes out of old habit. Her bangs didn't reach her eyes like they used to, nearly four years ago, but from the time they had she'd developed a habit of pushing them out of her eyes. "Makerson is obviously not Secret Service. Something's going on. But we can't do anything about it…"

"Why?" Jill asked, something akin to fear bubbling to life within her. She really didn't want this to be some kind of trap, even though she already knew it was, because that meant coming into contact with something she hadn't felt in a while. In Kijuju, she'd never felt fear. The virus in her had kept her strong and the majinis hadn't bothered her. And even if they had, she'd been able to kill them without much struggle. But now she was just Jill and she was walking into a deadly situation with a tired body and as far as she knew no weapons. Not good.

"If we tried, they'd kill us. I suppose we could hide out in Alaska but…they probably have people up there too. We're trapped," the younger woman said, rubbing at her eyes. Exhaustion was starting to take control of the three of them. They'd not even been home a week before this hell. Their bodies, fatigued even after their nights of sleep, hated what they were doing now.

"We could always move to Canada," Chris said as he returned from the bathroom. He sat down and gave the two women a slight smile though it was obviously a forced one. "We'd just need to learn French if we moved to the French side."

Both Sheva and Jill smiled but the air was thick with mistrust that didn't want to release them. Jill suddenly thought back to the two years with Wesker and all that fear and hatred that had eaten through her mind and how she'd nearly snapped a couple times. Her psyche evaluation had not been a good one. How could Makerson want her to go on this mission when the B.S.A.A. was thinking about giving her a year off?

"Alright, here's the plan. We'll get off the plane, go to the Anchorage Police Department, ask around, get some answers, and leave. Just a get in, get out mission and we're done. Okay?" Chris offered, looking at the two women hopefully. He clearly wanted to get the mission over with quickly, to which both women agreed. Jill and Sheva nodded at his offer.

Jill just had to hope that what little luck she had would hold out for a little longer.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 10th 2008---

The hotel room they'd given him was rather nice. It was on the second floor and was large with the walls painted a soft, peaceful peach color. The carpet was a whitish color that had obviously been meticulously cleaned before he'd arrived. The bed was covered in his things, including the weapons he'd requested to have other than his USP. He'd learned his lesson from Spain. In the duffel bag for his weapons was his old combat knife, a Desert Eagle just in case he had to fight something big, the Mossberg 500 just because he needed a damn good shotgun, and his new found friend the Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle. He was sick of going in unarmed. He was prepared this time.

As he sat at the desk in the room, looking around, he couldn't help but think of another hotel room from long ago. When the woman in a crimson gown had decided to suddenly kiss him and basically turned his knees into jelly. Without meaning to, Leon fell into his old memories, almost imagining that he could feel her fingernails scratching over his back. He could almost smell the light perfume she was wearing. He could almost feel her lips as she kissed along his jaw line and he could almost hear her whisper, 'Do what you want.'

Luckily, the rather annoying ring of his PDA snapped him from his memories and he snatched it out of his pocket. He mentally scolded himself for thinking about what had happened but turned his attention to the PDA. He answered the answer and almost regretted doing such.

"Something's jamming the damned signal," Hunnigan immediately said through Leon's PDA. There was no video feed like he usually got, which saved him from having to face Hunnigan, and her voice was scrambled by static. He remembered the mission in Spain, when his enemy had scrambled the line between him and Hunnigan and he'd been left without a contact.

"Great," Leon said bitterly, opening the government issued laptop he'd set out. He'd found it in one of the duffel bags on his bed and he guessed that if Hunnigan had sent him anything, and it had failed to go through to his PDA, he'd get it through the laptop instead. "How are we going to keep in contact then?"

"We're not," she explained. She sounded rather upset about the idea. "Leon… I'll email you from time to time but…that's it. We're not going to be talking any other way." The laptop asked for a password so he set the PDA on the desk and quickly typed in a name that he knew shouldn't be his password but still was.

"Alright," he said. He didn't really mind, sadly. Honestly, he worked better without Hunnigan snapping at him for any mistakes he made, which she'd been doing a lot more recently. "E-mail's good enough, for now at least. Besides, I'll be out in the wilderness and loud noises startle animals which…I personally don't want to have to fight a full grown pissed off Grizzly bear." And he really didn't want Hunnigan to find out about a certain somebody that was coming over for a visit.

"Keep in touch," Hunnigan said after a soft laugh at his bear comment and then the signal died and he was left alone again. He looked at the map on the laptop and sighed. Alaska was gigantic, covered in mountains and volcanoes, tundra and forests, not to mention the huge bodies of water that surrounded it. How would he figure out where the terrorists were, if there were any?

"All alone now, handsome?" a voice purred behind him. He heard the sound of high heels tapping against the carpeted floor as she walked over to him. Boots, he guessed, since it was much too cold for actual high heels and she'd been wearing boots outside earlier. He nodded and closed the map of Alaska. He'd check for any other information later. "Good. She'd just make things more complicated."

She was there at the computer desk suddenly, moving like the ghost she sometimes was, and perched on the edge. Her sudden presence at his desk made him swallow thickly. She was clad in the same clothes from before but close up, with her legs crossed, she looked different. Then again, he could almost reach out and touch her thigh without really moving that much. Her raven black hair suddenly fell into her face as she looked at something in her hands.

"I grabbed this for you," she said, abruptly handing him something and breaking his train of thoughts. It was a small, black flash drive that lacked any major features. It didn't even have any maker name like they usually would. He took it and she motioned for him to put it into the laptop he was near and he quickly put it in.

Immediately, a huge red and white symbol appeared. Leon's teeth smashed together with enough force that he knew it was likely he broke a couple of them. He knew that symbol all too well. Umbrella. He glanced at her and she gave him a surprisingly dark look, one that said she was no happier about that symbol than he was.

"What do you know about Alaska, Leon?" she questioned. He glanced at her, confused. "Not much, from that look. The majority of Alaska isn't connected by interstates. It's called the Bush. For good reason. That's the land controlled by the beasts. And that includes the Aleutian Islands. Umbrella had always wanted to use the Aleutians for experimentations since they're empty, lifeless, and great testing areas. They didn't. Wesker did."

"You're telling me the islands have…experiments?" he asked, clicking on the enter symbol. Surprisingly, it didn't ask for a password or anything. He guessed that these files were top secret. Or she'd done something to them and Umbrella's security was cracked by her. Instantly, the screen was filled with thumbnail images of bioweapons, creatures that broke the natural laws.

"Labs, actually," she corrected. "Wesker moved experiments up to the islands when he found out the sample I gave him was false." She ignored the shocked look on his face, since he'd guessed she'd pulled some trick like that but to actually hear it from her was surprising, and continued speaking. "It was probably for protection but from what I know, he never visited them."

"Failed experiments?" he asked. He turned his attention back to the laptop and started looking through the countless pictures. Then he noticed one in particular. It seemed to be a normal man, with ginger colored hair that fell into his face. He was either dead, unconscious, or sleeping and was apparently suspended in a clear liquid. The picture was from his chest up and his skin seemed to have a very pale green tint. Leon immediately took back the thought of the man looking normal. "And human experiments apparently."

She glanced at him, one perfect eyebrow raised curiously, but didn't bother to look at the picture. "Probably experiments he lost interest in. Viruses became obsolete compared to Las Plagas. You can't control a virus. You can control a parasite. Anyway…"

"Why are you showing me this?" he finally asked, looking at her again. She looked away from him and suddenly pushed off from the desk. She walked away, her boots making enough noise that he could basically follow where she was going by noise. She was going back towards the balcony, where she'd obviously come in from. When he finally decided to follow her, he stood and walked over to the balcony. He stepped through the curtains and looked at her. She sat on the rail with her hands holding onto it on each side of her body with her legs crossed and she looked out over the beautiful city of Anchorage. The lights from the city seemed to cast a heavenly glow around her slender form.

"You're here to stop whoever's causing the deaths of these people. I'm here to…" She trailed off and he imagined her eyes had a sorrow he'd only seen twice before. He guessed such because her head lowered slightly,

"For Las Plagas?" he asked, unable to keep a bitter tone out of his voice. She frowned, which he barely noticed. He couldn't really see her face but he could see slight movement. "I noticed the differences between the thing stuck to that woman and the ones that attacked me."

"It's Type 2 Las Plagas. And yes, I'm here for it." His fingers curled up into his palms. That infuriated him but he guessed he should've known. He didn't bother trying to ask what exactly 'Type 2' Las Plagas was. "But I…" Again she trailed off and he continued to watch her. "Look Leon, to succeed you'll need help and we'll need to work together… And…if you accept my offer…you can hand me over to the authorities and I'll go willingly.

To say he was shell-shocked was an understatement. He could almost imagine his heart had decided to stop beating as soon as she said that but he didn't say anything. Instead, he carefully reached out and touched her shoulder for the first time in a year. She didn't tense up like he expected and he stepped closer to her, close enough for her to lean her back against his chest, which is exactly what she did.

"We're a team," he said gently, almost tasting blood from ten years ago. She nodded her head, relaxing slightly. Somehow, Leon knew he wasn't going to be handing her over to authorities. She thought he would, probably, but he wouldn't. Without really thinking, his other hand rested on her waist. The intimacy of the gesture wasn't lost on either of them but neither said or did anything about it. He almost wanted to completely wrap his arms around her but he doubted she'd let him. The old wounds from the year before were still too raw. "Where first?"

"I was thinking somewhere on the outskirts of Anchorage. I was looking though some of Anchorage's police files the other day and I noticed a missing train. We should check that first. Then, after that, I have a list of islands we should check out. Getting there will be difficult but we've done things that were much harder," she said, leaving forward and away from him. He dropped both of his hands. She stood, balancing amazingly on the outside edge of the balcony even in her high heeled boots. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave. See you around."

She jumped off the balcony and onto the ground, which was luckily about ten feet below. Leon didn't bother watching her leave. He turned his attention to the computer, knowing he wouldn't be getting much sleep that night, and whispered, "What are you up to, Ada?"


	5. Chapter 5

No Leaf Clover

A/N: I'm just going to say this once and I honestly don't expect it to cause a difference. But if you're going to bother to favorite or alert this story, why not review it? I mean, I honestly don't understand that. Can't you just be kind enough to review? This story takes a lot out of me and it'd be nice to know that more than two people are reading all the time. (The rest of you, thank you all so much. I appreciate it.) Whatever. I really don't expect anybody else to review and I really don't care if anybody does. Oh well. Anyway, enough of my ranting…

_Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel,  
__Is just a freight train coming you way.  
__Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel,  
__Is just a freight train coming your way…  
__It's coming your way.  
__It's coming your way!  
__Here comes…_

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Ada had apparently been in Alaska much longer than he had. She had a permanent residence within Anchorage, which he'd gotten to see when she'd told him that they needed to take her car instead of the rental truck the government had gotten him. The house hadn't looked like something she would like to live in, as it had been quite simple and not the most beautiful thing in the world. However, it obviously served its purpose as her shelter. Her vehicle turned out to be a Jeep Rubicon with a decent lift to its body for use on wild terrains like that in Alaska. To be simple, Leon didn't expect Ada to have the vehicle. Two surprises for him in one day.

The black vehicle was at present making its way carefully across the frozen Alaskan world. The roof was off, sending blasts of cold air at the two in the vehicle. Leon didn't mind though. The cold of the outside world wasn't penetrating his thick gear anyway, so it wasn't like he could really feel the cold. He and Ada were both clad in thick jackets over long sleeved shirts, combat pants, boots, and thick gloves. Each article of clothing was designed for the cold.

"The tracks are quite far from any of the trails or roads," Ada suddenly said, grabbing his attention. He looked over at her in confusion, wondering where the sudden statement had come from. She smiled slightly, a simple upward lift of one corner of her mouth. "They never wanted to take the chance of the tracks getting frozen or something like that and the train toppling onto a pack of cars. That wouldn't be good, now would it?"

He shrugged and looked back out at the frozen world that was becoming covered in a slight fog. Alaska would've been a nice vacation place during the summer. The state was beautiful but the cold got down to your very bones and that was just too much. Not to mention the fog that seemed to be almost always present and the snow that covered the ground in a few seconds. Speaking of the fog, it was becoming thicker. That's when he spotted it.

"Look," he said, pointing at the glittering hunk of metal that seemed to be suspended in the air above the thickening fog. It wasn't too far away, maybe a little less than half a mile or so, Ada gave it a confused look and suddenly stomped on the brakes, forcing the Jeep to skid to a stop. He nearly got thrown into the dashboard and only stopped himself by planting his hands on the dashboard in an attempt to stop himself from having a very painful collision. "Shit, give me some warning why don't you?"

She winked at him playfully before stating, "We go on foot from here." He shot her a look, being a little more than baffled at her sudden order. "Leon, the front two tires of the Jeep are sitting on a frozen lake."

Oh.

They climbed out of the Jeep and sure enough a huge lake lay before them, a thick coating of ice covering the still water. The fog seemed to be forming because of the ice and was already beginning to reduce visibility, which wasn't a good sign. He looked at Ada as she started carefully onto the lake, her eyes fearless as she walked which was something he'd always admired about her. He followed suit and soon caught up to her. Luckily, the sheriff had offered him some gear, including boots that had better luck at gripping the ice.

"What is it?" he asked as they walked side-by-side. She cast a look at him and he just knew from the look in her eyes that they'd found their train. The fog parted around them like water and eventually revealed the monstrous, steal body of the once great vehicle. The train's engines and a car weren't visible and he guessed they were in the lake. The rest of it was sprawled out across the land, making it look like a giant snake that was slowly pulling itself from the water.

He swallowed thickly, cringing inwardly at the slight pain that filled his throat from lack of water. Anybody in there was dead. The train had a thick coating of ice on its body, which had caused the glistening Leon had spotted. If the train had frozen over, the people weren't likely to have survived. He looked over at Ada in worry.

"We have to go in there," she said, looking at the train. He frowned at her, realizing that frown was likely to become very common. "If there's anything on there, bioweapons or whatever, they could get into the lake and infect the water. Then, animals that drink the water would get infected, including the migrating caribou, which cover the entire state in their migrations by the way, and everything in Alaska would fall. Do you want that?"

"Whatever's on that train would be frozen, Ada," he argued. She looked at him again and he knew that they had to be safe, rather than sorry. "Fine. But make sure you don't lose your gloves. I've seen what happens to people's hands when they get them stuck to frozen metal."

"Thanks for the advice, handsome."

As he turned his attention back to the train, the roof of the train to be exact, Leon found himself slightly awed. The vehicle had obviously gone flying off of the tracks for some unknown reason, skidded across the snow and ice for God knows how long, and finally the engine struck the ice with such force that the thick solid had buckled and splintered under the train. The train's last bit of momentum had forced a little more of the train into the lake, breaking the water's peace. But the ice had fought back with equal ferocity. The cold had refrozen the lake and the ice snaked up a little bit of the train. It was an interesting sight. It was quite amazing as well.

"Shall we?" she asked, stepping closer to it. The car that protruded from the lake was sitting above the ice just enough for a person tall enough to clamber on top of it and into the next car that was parallel with the ground. However, it was a little tall for the Eurasian woman. He stepped closer to her and she glanced at him.

"I'll give you a boost," he explained.

She smiled at him slightly and he walked over to the train, feeling slightly uneasy as he stepped onto the recently broken ice. As soon as he was close enough to the roof, he turned around and knelt down. Remembering when he'd given her a boost in Raccoon City, he formed a bowl-like shape with his hands right above his right knee and nodded at her. She easily stepped into his hands and he pushed her light body upwards, his muscles straining slightly at her weight. With expert experience and calm ease, she grabbed onto the ledge of the train and lifted herself up. As soon as her boot was out of his hand, he stood and turned to face the train. Right as he was about to start to pull himself up without any assistance, she extended a gloved hand to him, which he gratefully took, and she helped pull him up onto the train.

A groan came from the part of the train that was underwater as the metal gained nearly three hundred pounds of new weight. Leon felt his body tense in expectation of the train to slide further into the water, dragging them to a very cold death. But the groan stopped and they looked at each other. As her slightly widened eyes met his, he was glad to see that he wasn't the only one obviously relieved by the train not moving.

They finally turned to the door and Leon was dismayed to see it frozen over with a thin coat of ice on it. Ada looked at him expectantly and he sighed. This was the bad part about being the man, really. His right gloved hand wrapped around the door handle and he gave it a strong tug, hoping that he wouldn't have to use too much force on it. The ice instantly cracked and the door was freed, swinging open to reveal the black guts of the train.

"Ladies first," he said, smiling at the black haired woman. She rolled her eyes at his statement and stepped into the train. He followed suit but didn't dare shut the door. The train car had windows but they were coated in a thin sheen of ice from the world outside and didn't really allow much light into the car. They needed light to see and he was willing to let in the cold in exchange for a little light.

They walked forward and Leon immediately heard something that threatened to send a shudder rushing down his spine. The carpet crunched under his boots in a way that reminded him of frosted grass during the D.C. winters when dew froze on it. The carpet would, no doubt, get cold but without some sort of liquid it wouldn't completely freeze over. Both he and Ada looked down at the carpet and thanks to the light from the doorway, saw huge frozen splotches of crimson liquid.

"Well, it wasn't just a crash. We know that much now," Ada said softly. He nodded in agreement and they continued on. Luckily, his survival through Raccoon City had built up a steady resistance to shock and horror. The blood was worrying yes, but he wouldn't let it completely stop him.

As they walked, he realized that the train car had a sitting room setup. There were couch-like benches set up against the wall that looked rather inviting and every here and there was a table. It was quite large and when they finally reached the backdoor, he thought that three or four minutes had passed.

He started to reach out and grab the door handle when he heard a dreadfully familiar suction cup-like noise. Ada froze next to him and her right hand dropped to her leg to grab her machine pistol, a Beretta 93R, from its holster. He wasn't quite certain where she'd gotten it, since the weapon wasn't in production any longer, but it was a nice gun. And since when she'd arrived at his hotel she'd told him they were only taking their standard handguns for the mission, its rapid fire abilities were very comforting. He still regretted not grabbing his Desert Eagle though.

"Please tell me that's not wheat I think it is," he mumbled to her. Her emerald eyes met his and he smiled at her weakly. "I could hope, couldn't I?" She nodded and turned in a quick 180 degree spin, moving quick enough that she was basically a blur of black. He followed suit, pulling his USP from its holster. They both aimed their respective guns down towards where they'd entered the car and saw nothing.

"We can't both be going crazy, can we?" he asked gently. She shrugged at him but he noticed that she was scanning the entire train car over. He joined her in doing such but caught nothing. He also knew that it was unlikely that both of them had missed whatever it was when they'd first entered the train car.

Something moved on the roof and Leon regretted thinking such thoughts. Both of them instantly jerked their guns upwards and, even in the dim light, saw exactly what it was. Leon thought it looked like a licker, one of his worst memories about Raccoon City, on steroids.

"Oh shit," he mumbled. Ada nodded at his side and he had to wonder whether or not they should try and shoot at it. Lickers in Raccoon City were hard enough to kill, he didn't really want to see how hard a steroid-licker would be. Besides, if they were lucky it would stay on the roof and they'd be able to sneak past it. Licker's didn't have eyes and had to rely completely on hearing to detect or attack their prey.

The creature suddenly dropped to the ground, its eyeless head aimed at them as if it simply knew they were there somehow. Jagged teeth were visible in its jaws, which were open like they were incapable of closing all the way, and he noticed that it literally looked exactly like a licker with huge muscles. The only thing he could see that actually set the creature apart from the monsters ten years ago was some kind of growth on its chest that wasn't very visible thanks to the lighting in the train. Both man and woman remained as still and as silent as possible as the creature slowly walked towards them. The agent really regretted not convincing Ada to let him bring his other guns.

When the steroid-licker got to be about a meter away from them, Leon knew they were going to have to move away or it would smack into their legs. It was blind but it would know a living human from a chunk of furniture thanks to the warmth humans radiated. Ada suddenly used her left hand to grab his right forearm. He looked at her and she looked back. With a nervous smile, one he'd_ never _seen on her face before, she nodded towards the exit. Her nervousness made Leon extremely uneasy but he nodded. They had to get out. Whether it was the monster bothering her or something else, he didn't know. But he agreed that they had to get out. Now. He wasn't about to die because of some God forsaken freak of nature.

'On three,' she mouthed. He nodded and felt her left hand's index, middle, and ring finger lift into the air. Her ring finger quickly returned to his arm, followed by her middle, and finally her index.

They broke into a sprint.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"So, you're telling me that you blatantly told the government that you didn't want any B.S.A.A. members up here until you knew it was indeed a biohazard?" Chris asked, looking at the upset looking sheriff. The man hadn't exactly greeted them with warm smiles and bear hugs. When they'd entered the station, he'd glared at them with enough hatred that Chris and the two women would've died eighty times, at least. Somehow, he'd know who they were even before they'd introduced themselves.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Frederick said coldly. The man looked stressed, and obviously was stressed, and Chris knew that them being there was only adding to his problems. But they weren't about to leave now. Not right after arriving. They had to at least stay for one day.

Jill looked over at Chris and he knew she was just urging to say that they'd been tricked. He didn't really care though. He didn't want to hear that they'd been tricked. He knew they had. But, back with Makerson, there'd only been so many choices. Either go to Alaska and find out what's going on or stay there and get killed. Neither seemed very pleasant but Chris decided that he could handle the cold better if he was actually alive. Besides, he wanted to see his sister again before he died. At least once.

"They sent an agent in, you said," Sheva remarked suddenly. She hadn't really spoken since entering the station and Frederick shot her a slightly startled look, almost as if he just now remembered that she was there. Hell, Chris himself had almost forgotten about the silent woman. "Who?"

"We can't give you that information," Frederick stated, his voice lacking any major emotions. Chris doubted they were going to get any answers from the sheriff. He was obviously taking this situation seriously, including keeping the agent's name quiet. And with the way he was glaring at the three of them, Chris knew that the man was also still furious over their sudden existence in Alaska. "Look, you're here so…you have to help. Whatever, I get that. If you want to help, go down to the morgue in the hospital and ask to see Lucia the dog woman. You'll get answers there."

Chris wasn't certain if he really wanted to see Lucia the dog woman.

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

They hit the frozen lake with a synchronized thud. The impact rippled throughout their bodies and caused slight pain in their legs but they didn't really care. They'd barely avoided being torn to shreds by the licker as they'd sprinted past it. Luckily it had the same flaw the lickers in Raccoon had; it was quick when swiping its claws but slow when trying to do true damage. They'd easily avoided the low attacks from the creature, practically stepping over its deadly claws, and it hadn't gotten the chance to truly attack them.

"Shit," Leon breathed as he rested his gloved hands against the cold ice. His body was radiating heat as adrenaline pumped through his veins, a feeling that was more familiar to him then the back of his hands which were always covered by gloves of some kind. Both he and Ada were panting heavily, their lungs practically aching to get more air. The cold seemed to suck the air out of them, making it hard to breathe even though they hadn't done that much to escape. Leon imagined that breathing in the cold air, especially with the fog, was like basically breathing in little ice particles. "Is it just me, or is it hard to breathe?" he laughed weakly. She gave him small smile but suddenly looked over her shoulder as the monster's existence was remembered. He did the same and got a startling sight.

The licker stood in the doorway. It was hissing angrily but it didn't move. The agent didn't like that whatsoever. He guessed the creature, without any clothing or fur, wouldn't want to touch the ice since bare skin touching ice was likely to stick to the ice but he didn't think that it had enough common sense to know that the ice would indeed harm it. Suddenly, the skinned looking beast turned and fled back into the guts of the huge train, almost like it was trying to escape. He looked over at Ada, who looked as confused as he felt.

"That was weird," he said. She simply nodded in agreement. That's when the world started to rumble. They stood up on the ice, as if they were hoping to get a better view of what was going on, and although Leon wanted to ask if it was an earthquake he knew exactly what it was. The world wasn't shaking. Something big was walking towards them. And it felt the exact same as when something big had walked towards him four years ago in Spain. "You've got to be kidding me."

The creature appeared around the edge of the train and almost seemed godly as it split the fog easily. It stood at least 25 feet tall and looked as humanoid as the ones he recognized from those years ago. It was easily bigger than the creatures he'd fought in Spain, known as el Gigante. It was clad in torn shorts and its body was covered in ice crystals. This creature was much uglier than the Gigantes he'd fought, which was a hard task to accomplish seeing as the ones in Spain were quite ugly. Its teeth, which were bared at the man and woman in a silent growl, were square and greenish-yellow and uneven, even crossing over each other in some places. Its skin was mostly grayish-green but had taken on a vaguely blue tint from the cold, which it was obviously ignoring. Apparently the cold had no effect on the giant. Its head was misshapen, much like somebody had accidentally molded it wrong. It was completely bald and had an oversized jaw that seemed to jut out.

"Great," Ada whispered at his side. He nodded in agreement as the creature turned its attention towards them. Before he could even consider replying to the woman at his side, it roared at them furiously.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"That's…" Sheva started, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the dead woman. Chris had to agree with what Sheva hadn't said. It was quite disgusting. And terrifying. And it confirmed that a biohazard was going on. And although he was strong enough to stay in the room with the corpses, he really didn't want to.

"First Frederick delivers a corpse that has to be kept frozen, then a bunch of people come in asking about it," the doctor nearby mumbled. He'd brought them down into the morgue after they'd arrived at the hospital and had asked about Lucia. "This is just not going to be a good week, I can tell."

"Who told the sheriff to freeze the body?" Chris asked. He doubted that the sheriff knew that Las Plagas could possibly come back to life, even after being frozen in blood. No doubt the Secret Service agent who'd been sent up here was the one who'd given the order. But how would he know? Was it possible that-

"I don't know. Why would I?" the doctor snapped, glaring at Chris darkly. The B.S.A.A. agents all three shot the doctor a look that seemed to convey that they weren't any happier about this than he was. He simply frowned and looked away, sniffing loudly. "I'm going to go back to work. Make sure you shut the door when you leave." With that, he turned and walked away. When the door to the morgue shut, Chris felt oddly isolated from the rest of the world even though he really wasn't. Not to mention that Jill and Sheva were still in the room with him.

"Okay, who's putting Las Plagas in Alaska?" Jill asked, getting right down to business like usual. Chris had missed that about his partner. "That's the first thing we need to find out." Sheva, however, shook her head. Both Jill and Chris looked at her in confusion. She was staring at the frozen woman, obviously engrossed in her thoughts.

"We need to find the agent," she finally said. "He obviously knows something about all of this. Hell, it might even be the guy you were talking about, Kennedy." Chris nodded in agreement. They did need to find the agent. Not only would he help in the investigation of what was going on but he'd more than likely help with the Makerson situation. Secret Service typically knew other Secret Service. And if he didn't know Makerson, Chris knew that the false agent would be reported. "Now, the only question is, how do we find the agent?"

"We could always check in the hotels," Jill offered. Chris gave her a curious look but didn't bother to ask her aloud. She typically knew what he wanted to ask without having to actually hear the question. "I mean, it's more than likely Kennedy. The government would want to send somebody up here that has true knowledge about Las Plagas. So, we check the hotels and see if anybody named Kennedy is there."

Before Chris could agree with Jill, Sheva cut in and said, "The hotel wouldn't tell us. Especially not if it was booked by the government themselves. They tend to do that for their agents after all." Chris and Jill both gave her a rather bitter look, since she seemed to be putting down every idea they had, and she smiled at them warmly. "That doesn't mean I'm not willing to try. Let's go."

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

The giant was much faster than either of them truly expected. It made the ones they fought in Spain look pathetic because in a matter of seconds after it roared at the startled duo, it was rushing at them. Before both of its feet were even on the lake, its hands scooped downward, grabbing at them, and both of them tried to avoid getting caught. Ada barely managed to back flip out of the way. Leon, however, wasn't so lucky.

For some reason, instead of going for his torso, it grabbed a hold of his legs and straightened up, one foot on the lake and one foot on the snowy bank. His USP slid out of his hands before he really knew what was happening and struck the ice with a distant clanking noise. Ada cried his name, though her voice seemed as far away as the sound the gun had made did. The creature, oddly enough, decided to dangle him upside down before its face much like a fisherman would do to his catch. Leon really didn't like the fact that he was the fish.

"Leon! Hold on I'm going to…" She trailed off, clearly realizing that the only way the agent was going to get to the ground safely was for the monster suddenly decide to be a good monster and set him gently on the ice again instead of doing God knows what to the poor man. If she shot at the monster, it would drop Leon and the agent wouldn't survive the fall to the ice, which was now about 30 or so feet below him. She looked at him and her expression was one of horror. He wanted to smile at her, to reassure her, but even he wasn't brave enough to pull off a smile while dangling over the ice in a giant's hand. Leon wondered what was going to happen now. It was either he took death by giant or death by falling to the ice.

The creature dangled him above its head, looking him over curiously like a prized toy. Leon didn't bother trying to thrash, though he was trying to keep his jacket from falling off. Luckily, Leon's back was to the monster and instead of seeing its hideous face, he saw the white world that was Alaska. It really was a pretty place. Much prettier than Washington D.C.

The creature growled at him, forcing him to realize that he wasn't site seeing that he was indeed dangling in between life and death. Ada cried out his name again, though he was beginning to feel oddly light headed. That's when he realized that all the blood was rushing to his head. Well, wasn't that just great? This was not his day...

He looked back at the woman on the ice, noticing the terror in her eyes. Why was she so worried? She shouldn't care about him, not after what he'd done to her last year. And yet there she was, obviously thinking of a way to save him from certain death. He didn't want to die either. At least, not without telling her he was sorry, so sorry. That's when Leon's brain seemed to regain some sanity and knocked all of the odd thoughts away as he remembered what was under the ice.

"Ada, do you have an explosive?" he yelled, making the creature cock its head curiously. It seemed amazed that its new toy was shouting at the small woman it wasn't bothering to catch. Ada, however, was all that Leon cared about. She gave him a curious but confused look and shook her head. "Damn," Leon hissed.

The creature stepped forward, placing all of its weight on the ice. And apparently that's all the weight the ice could take because a sudden noise met Leon's ears. A deafening cracking noise, almost a noise one would expect to hear from bridge cables that were starting to rip and tear, rushed out of the ice. He looked at it, which an oddly fearful looking Ada was also doing, and saw huge spider webs snaking over it. The creature lost interest in its toy and looked down, realizing its mistake right as the ice began to give out.

"Ada, shoot it!" he yelled, his voice hoarse suddenly as the cold and fear clashed. The ice was buckling under the creature and it seemed as frozen with fear as the man and woman did. She gave him a horrified look, realizing what he was doing.

"The water-"

"I can survive unless he pulls me down with him!" he shouted, interrupting her. Somehow, he knew that there were tears in her eyes but she aimed the Beretta and fired, three nine millimeter rounds striking the giant's fingers and freeing the agent who was instantly dropped, right in time as the ice shattered and parted as the giant struck the water and sent water rushing upwards. A gaping, black hole appeared and Leon almost imagined his luck was looking up. And he had to pray that Ada got away from the flying ice and rushing water. The last thing he felt was hitting the subzero water.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"Um, yes, is a…Kennedy signed in here?" Jill asked. The hotel worker blinked at her and instead of replying, settled on giving her a look that just asked if she thought he was stupid. She offered him a shy smile in return. She knew that she could always use her looks to trick the kid into giving her some information but she didn't really want to. Especially not when Chris and Sheva were standing nearby. She really didn't want Chris to see her flirt with some hotel kid to get information.

"That information's kinda confidential," the kid said. Chris suddenly stepped forward, apparently losing patience, and dropped something on the desk before the kid. It was a shiny badge with B.S.A.A. on it. The hotel kid sniffed as if he was bored and blinked again. "Yeah, he is. Second floor, third room to the left. He ain't there though. Saw him leave this morning."

"Thanks anyway," Jill said as Chris scooped up his badge. The three of them walked out of the hotel and continued walking until they stood beside their rental car, a black SUV that made Jill feel like an Umbrella agent searching for somebody to kill even though Umbrella was no longer around. She heard Chris sigh loudly.

"Well, at least we know he lives here," he said to his two friends. Both women nodded but Jill saw Sheva's discomfort. The younger woman's eyebrows were furrowed as if she was trying to think of something. "What's wrong Sheva?"

"Something's off about all of this…. Where did he go?"

Chris looked at Sheva as Jill looked away, lost in thought. It was apparent they were all thinking about the answer to that question but it was Chris who finally responded, in any way, to it. "Do we really want to know?"


	6. Chapter 6

No Leaf Clover

A/N: This chapter marks the beginning of a new way to change the character in focus. Because certain characters will be in the same area as the others, three lines (---) will mark the change of the character in focus instead of (---place, date---). Just wanted to clarify that.

_Yeah, then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel,  
__Is just a freight train coming you way…yeah…_

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Jill and Chris were making their way to the police station while Sheva waited in the SUV, when a hand suddenly snatched Jill's left parka sleeve. Out of habit, she went for her gun, which she didn't have on her since the police weren't very happy about the B.S.A.A.'s presence and she didn't want to make things worse. Instead she looked down to see a raggedy looking homeless giving her a sad look, his lips curved downwards in an obviously permanent frown.

"Money for the poor?" he asked gently in a gruff voice. Instincts told Jill to pull her hand away from him like most people did but she wasn't that cruel. With a soft smile at the man, she started to reach for her wallet. However, his other hand suddenly came up and grabbed a hold of her wrist with an odd amount of force in the grip. She looked down at him in confusion, her pale eyes locking onto his, and to her horror she noticed that his eyes were an orange-red color. The color caused by infection of Las Plagas.

"Let her go," Chris started to snarl as he stepped forward. He seemed to notice Jill's obvious horror at the man but he couldn't see what was wrong exactly. Then his eyes widened as he moved closer, almost at Jill's shoulder, and noticed the color of the man's eyes. He stepped back out of shock and habitual shock that occurs when one sees something as odd, or as familiar, as what he was looking at. Immediately, flashes of Kijuju's infected inhabitants filled his mind. "Shit."

The man twisted Jill's wrist with warning, causing her to yelp out in pain. It had been so long since she'd felt true pain, since she'd been nearly crippled by pain. Because of the period of time she'd spent as practically invincible, the pain she was now feeling felt much worse than it typically would. Her knees buckled and she went down to the ground, landing on her knees which caused a shudder of pain to rush through her legs. Then Chris was suddenly at her side, trying to free her. He pried uselessly at the man's hands, but he wasn't letting her go. Jill noticed Chris was about to go at the man, probably even go as far as to attack him, and she knew that it was useless to try such with the infected. They didn't truly feel pain from physical attacks.

"Shoot him," Jill growled through her clenched teeth, the pain becoming too much. She could imagine her wrist bones snapping and shattering weakly as the man continued to put pressure on it. Soon, her hand would be useless to her.

"I don't have my damned gun," he snapped. No doubt he'd had the same line of thought as she. None of them wanted to further upset the Anchorage sheriff or his police force. Suddenly, a vicious crack splintered the air and the man released her wrist, blood spraying out of the side of his head in a vicious burst. He collapsed onto the sidewalk and lay still, blood slowly pooling around his ruined skull. She stood and instantly stepped away from his corpse, almost backing into the still kneeling Chris. Carefully, she cradled her already bruising wrist to her body. Chris stood as well, his eyes right hand gently touching Jill's shoulder as if to reassure her that he was still there, and looked at whoever had just saved them.

Frederick stood with his gun, a black Glock, hanging limply in his right hand. His eyes were hard and almost empty, while his lips were a straight line. He looked even more stressed than before and this time, fear was mixing in with the stress. His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed. Jill imagined he was shocked that he'd just shot a civilian. Thanks to her years as a police officer, she knew that an action like that would probably lose him his job.

"Thank you," Chris said as he looked back at the dead man. His eyes revealed emotions that startled Jill, things like fear and worry. She wondered if Las Plagas worried him more than the T-Virus somehow. Turning her attention back to the sheriff, she noticed he blinked but didn't look at either B.S.A.A. agent.

"Something's going on at the lake outside of town. Check their for the Secret Service agent."

Chris nodded but didn't say a word. And somehow that worried Jill.

---Washington D.C., March 11th 2008---

Ashley gently stroked Behemoth's huge head while the mastiff lay on the couch with her. Leon's dog was incredibly tame and calm but when he got excited, it was hard to calm him down. But, like always, he was extremely lazy when Leon wasn't around. It was like the dog knew that his master was putting his life on the line to protect people he didn't know.

"Behemoth… Leon's going to be okay, right?" she asked softly. The dog groaned softly, only reacting to her because she'd said his owner's name. The mastiff wasn't particularly fond of her; at least that's what she thought. He was almost a completely different dog when he interacted with Leon. He was happy and playful but with her he was lazy and sometimes grumpy. She guessed if she was him, she wouldn't like herself either.

Her phone suddenly rang, making Behemoth whimper angrily. He hated cell phones. She'd almost lost her cell phone once because the dog had decided to snap his extremely powerful jaws down on it in an attempt to shut it up.

Ashley leaned over and picked it up, flipping it open before it even reached her ear. "Hello?" she cooed calmly. It was probably one of her many friends who were all trying to convince her to ask Leon out to a party. She'd tried explaining that the older man had no interest in her but they tended not to listen to her.

"Ashley, it's Hunnigan," a somewhat familiar voice said. Ashley hadn't met Hunnigan very many times, only when the strict agent was following Leon around or giving him orders. Or when she found out about Leon's little secret.

"Oh, hey Hunnigan," the blond woman replied pleasantly enough. Behemoth growled lowly in his throat, his head aimed towards the door that led into her room. She thought it was probably one of the many Secret Service who made their way through the White House every few minutes. They were always on guard.

"Ashley, I need you to do something for me," Hunnigan said. That's when Ashley noticed she sounded out of breath. Almost like she was running or at least walking very quickly. Ashley wondered what was going on. "I need you to call Leon's PDA and leave him a message. Tell him-"

The line suddenly went dead and Ashley frowned. She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the black screen with the white numbers. Hunnigan's number, like most government numbers, was a restricted number.

Behemoth suddenly started barking, which caused her to look up in shock. Standing in her room was her mother, who looked odd. Other than the fact that Ashley hadn't heard her enter, something was off about the woman whose face was hidden by her hair, especially when Behemoth started snarling. The woman looked at the dog, who simply growled in anger.

"Mom?" Ashley whispered. The woman finally looked at her daughter, her hair falling out of her face, and Ashley found herself terrified to see that her mother's typically chocolate colored eyes were glowing orange. Behemoth stepped off the couch, his short fur standing on end. And all Ashley could do was sit, paralyzed with fear as old memories started to fill her mind.

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

The fire she'd started was large enough to keep the small cabin warm. Even with how small it was, it would hold off the cold since the windowless cabin was trapping the heat with its metal and wood walls.

And it was also helping to dry their clothes, which were laid out carefully on the floor near the fire. In the last half hour or so, she'd gotten into a habit of reaching over and running her hand over the fabric every now and then to check how dry it was getting. When one side got dry or at least warm, she would carefully flip the article of clothing over and let the same happen to the other side.

Leon was unconscious still his chest rising and falling slowly and he was extremely still under the thick blanket she'd draped over him, which was worrying her. She'd made sure he laid close enough for her to reach out and touch his brow to make sure he was warm but not too warm.

Although Ada knew a lot, she didn't know everything about medicine. Was it a good sign or a bad sign that he was sleeping so steadily after falling into water that was so cold she shivered at the thought of it? She only knew general things, such as the need to make sure he continued to breathe and that he needed to be kept very warm. She'd even cuddled up to him when she'd noticed that the cabin got a sudden coldness to the air, even though that was probably for herself just as much as it was for him. And not because she was cold.

Her grip tightened on her blanket. The cabin had a cot against the wall opposite to the door, five thick grey blankets, and a steal trash bin that was filled with old wood. Somebody had once used this small, comfortable cottage, for ice fishing. There was fishing poles on the wall near the door and the entire building reeked of old fish. And even though she hated the smell of fish now, it was small and warm and it was protecting them from the cold.

Speaking of the cold, it was a miracle either of them were alive. When Leon had dropped into the water, Ada hadn't hesitated to leap after him. The water had been so cold her breath had literally been torn from her lungs. But she'd kept swimming, using what little light there was in the black water to search for the agent. Luck had been on her side and she'd managed to get a hold of his jacket and, with help from a burst of adrenaline formed by her panic of losing the agent, had gotten him above water again.

Unfortunately, the giant was still alive and still thrashing, making swimming with the heavy agent basically on her back extremely difficult. With his arms limply around her neck, where she'd draped them, she'd ended up having to swim all the way back to the snow covered back to get him out of the water. She doubted they would've made it out if she hadn't grabbed a hold of the thick ice resting on the water and used it to drag her and Leon to safety.

Shivering violently, the raven haired woman had laid Leon on the ground and looked around. After a few seconds, her eyes had spotted the cabin that had been, by some amazing chance, spared from the train's rampage as it smashed its way to the lake. The building was only about eight or so feet from the metal beast. And, with more strength than she knew she had, she'd managed to drag the unconscious agent to the cabin, which had only been a few degrees warmer than the outside.

Once they were inside and the door was closed, her sharp eyes had spotted the trash bin and her already numbed fingers searched Leon's jacket. However, her thick gloves had made searching for the lighter she knew he had on him difficult so she'd slid her right one off. She'd finally found a lighter and, not even thinking about the consequences of touching metal with bare skin in the freezing cold, she'd lit the wood in the trash bin.

After a tiny blaze had started up, she'd had to rip her fingers off of the lighter since they'd almost immediately frozen to the metal, and it had fallen into the trash bin. She hadn't even cared about her bloody fingers or the lost lighter. There was a limited amount of time that Leon could afford to be unconscious and in nearly frozen clothes.

After noticing the blankets, she'd grabbed a couple and turned back to the man lying on the floor. They had to get out of their clothes, which were already beginning to become stiff from the cold. She'd ended up stripping them both down to their underclothes, which were slightly protected from the water thanks to the mostly water proof outer wear, with her numbed and bloody hands. While she was still in her shirt and pants, she'd wrapped the still unconscious Leon in a blanket before dragging him right next to the fire. She'd then finished stripping and had wrapped herself in a blanket as well and placed herself right next to the heat as well.

Movement suddenly tore her from her thoughts and she looked over to see Leon rubbing at his face with one hand. The movement made her smile weakly, though her aching and still slightly numbed body wouldn't let her do much more than a slight uplift of the corners of her mouth. Regaining consciousness meant he was going to live. And to her, even after what had happened, that was still all that mattered.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," she said as the agent sat up. The blanket slid away from his chest, revealing his well built body. She had to force herself to look him in the eyes. She couldn't help but take a little peak though and almost immediately she noticed that he had two newer scars on his chest. Her green eyes lifted up to meet his tired blue ones.

"Where are we?" he asked groggily, looking at her curiously. Something seemed to be breaking inside of her, much like what had happened the year before. Primal urges threatened to break her calm exterior simply because of the sudden sight of his bare chest in the warm glow of the flames. She guessed that she'd been in too much of a hurry to save his life to honestly care that she'd taken his clothes off earlier.

"A fishing cabin near the lake," she explained, her left hand sliding out from under the blanket to touch her jacket. The two jackets were the thickest articles of clothing they had and were still quite wet. Luckily, the wood was plentiful in the cabin and they would easily be able to make it through the night, which would provide plenty of time for the clothes to dry completely.

"The giant?" he asked, still giving her a curious look. She wondered if he even remembered being dropped into the frozen lake. And she also wondered if he noticed that he wasn't wearing clothes. If so, he didn't acknowledge the lack of clothing.

"It stopped making any noises about half at hour ago," she said. The creature had held on until the bitter end but no doubt the two hours of ice water had eventually killed it. She knew that she and Leon were incredibly lucky to be alive. She'd heard of insane incidents of people surviving the frozen water for longer periods of time but she'd never heard of people surviving the water with a monster thrashing crazily next to them.

"And how did we get here?" he finally asked. Another smile flickered across her lips. This explanation and his reaction were going to be quite interesting. She knew how he felt about people sacrificing themselves for him. He hated it. And she'd nearly been willing to do such.

"I brought you here after you fell into the lake," she explained. Was her hair still damp? She couldn't really tell. But if it was then he would know exactly what she'd done to get him out of the water. However, she doubted it was. They'd been in the cabin for quite a long period of time and the fire had obviously dried his hair.

"You jumped in after me, didn't you?" he asked. She smiled again, though the look of disbelief on his face confused her slightly. He knew how willing she was to save him. "You could've gotten yourself killed Ada. You should've gotten out of there."

"We're a team."

That shut him up.

---

It had only taken a few minutes of driving for them to find out where the lake was and the vehicle sitting before it convinced the trio that somebody was there. After stopping the SUV, they'd walked over to the Jeep to examine it. The Jeep's front tires sat on the lake and Chris knew what had happened. Kennedy, and apparently someone else since there were two sets of prints, had gone on foot from the Jeep because of the lake. He guessed they hadn't wanted to test how strong the ice was and had settled on walking instead or driving.

"So, do we follow where they went or what?" Sheva asked, casting Chris a questioning look. They were all clad in thick 'survival' gear but he noticed that her nose was reddening from the cold. He regretted not getting them all a mask of some kind to protect their faces.

He finally nodded in response to her question and started onto the ice. Sheva was the first to follow him and he noticed that she was being careful to walk no too fast and not too slow. Their boots weren't designed for walking on ice. He regretted not getting better boots too.

"How do we know they're even still alive?" Jill asked as she stepped onto the ice. She walked calmly after them. "The Jeep's got a slight coating of ice on it. They've obviously been gone for some time."

"That's not completely accurate," Sheva suddenly disagreed. "See the fog in the air? It's made out of tiny ice particles, which gather easily on metal. That Jeep could've just recently been parked there. It's likely they've been away for the Jeep for about an hour or so, though, because those footprints are pretty old." Chris looked at the young woman in disbelief and she smiled at him shyly. "I was looking things up in the SUV. There were a couple tourist guide books about Alaska in it."

"Good thing you did," Jill stated with a friendly tone to her voice. Chris was glad to see that the two women were getting along. They all needed to work together to stay alive, after all. "Okay, so... Oh shit."

Chris stopped and gaped at what he saw in front of him. It looked like the thing that had torn the B.S.A.A. in Africa apart, the thing that had thrown Humvees at them and that had only been brought down by an M60 and a gatling gun. But it was different. And it was frozen solid. Its bottom jaw hung limply in a silent roar, and its tongue was curled in its mouth. Its eyes were glossed over with ice and its hands gripped the cracked ice before it as if it had tried to pull itself from the water. It was obviously unsuccessful. But even more frightening then the monster was what sat next to it. A train, its twisting body sprawled out across the snowy world.

"What the hell happened here?" Jill whispered. Chris swallowed and feared for the worst. Where was Kennedy? What exactly had happened? Had Kennedy come out here because of the train or the monster? So many questions and no answers.

"Do you think…" Sheva started. Nobody finished the question but with the agent nowhere in sight, they all guessed the answer.

--Fairbanks, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"That's Drew alright," Mary said as the sheet was pulled back from her cousin's face. She'd seen plenty of dead bodies on TV and she thought that, for all the criticism of them, the television shows had done a good job of what they basically looked like. He was really pale, had a bluish tint to his skin especially his lips, and had glossed over eyes. He didn't smell thanks to the cold temperatures they kept the bodies at. He looked like a wax doll, she thought. Just a big, stupid wax doll. Pretty much what he'd been in real life, really.

"I'm sorry for your lost," the man who'd called her about her cousin gently said. He worked for the police or something and had found out that she was his only family in the state, besides his dog, and had called her. She shrugged and sniffed. The air in the morgue stank of chemicals, a smell she'd always hated. Drew had too. Not that it mattered anymore. She doubted he cared about smells. The dead didn't care about anything.

"He was bound to get killed sooner or later," she said darkly. The man looked at her in shock when something extremely cold grabbed her wrist with inhuman strength. She started to curse and looked down to see that the cold thing was a hand. She followed the hand to the sheet covering Drew with her eyes. She then looked at his face and to her horror saw Drew was staring at her with glazed over eyes. She screamed, a guttural and inhuman noise, and tried to back away. Drew's hand continued to grip her wrist and she ended up dragging him off the table. His back struck the concrete floor with a sickening smack and he slowly sat up. The sheet spilled off of the table and onto the ground like it was liquid instead of solid next to him.

The man who'd called her suddenly sprinted from the room in fear as the naked undead one lifted himself from the floor and stumbled towards his cousin. Mary barely managed to scream again by the time he'd collapsed to his knees and planted his teeth into her throat.

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Ada and Leon sat as close to each other as possible, the fire's warmth seemingly weak against the sudden onrush of cold that somehow made it into the cabin. She felt him shiver slightly every now and then and she was shivering just as much as he was, if not more. She didn't have as much body mass as he did; therefore she was getting colder than he was. Not to mention her index and ring fingers were bleeding. Luckily her thumb hadn't been hurt somehow when she'd pulled it free. Honestly, it hadn't been frozen to the light at all.

"Are you bleeding?" he asked, almost as if he'd read her mind. She looked at the blanket and noticed that the edge of it had turned a dark red color. She let her right hand move out of underneath her blanket and showed him her raw fingers. The first layer of skin had been torn from her fingers and droplets of blood continued to spill out. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I grabbed your lighter. With my bare hands." He reached over and gently took her hand in his. She nearly jumped at the sudden movement but then savored the way his hands felt against hers.

"Christ Ada," he mumbled. "We need something to stop the bleeding though. You can't go outside bleeding like that." She nodded. She knew that. It wasn't like she was stupid or something. But she knew that wasn't what he was trying to say. He was trying to help. Like always. "My lighter?"

"Dropped it into the fire on accident," she explained, almost sheepishly. That lighter had been in his pocket since Raccoon City, when he'd needed the lighter several times. She'd messed with it a couple of times in the city and the year before as well, when she'd found it in his jacket. He, to her amazement, chuckled.

"I think I'd break it if this happened to me," he stated, suddenly using the edge of his own blanket to dab away the bright droplets of blood on her fingertips. She was, as always, amazed by how gentle he was. No matter what he was doing, he was gentle.

"I was going to. But I didn't think that would be very good. I'm surprised the fire didn't become huge because of the lighter," she said, forcing herself to look away from him. He was so damned confusing. She could tell he was trying to keep serious and stoic around her. But it was obviously not working. He was obviously starting to buckle. And that wasn't good. For either of them. Because when he buckled, she would follow suit.

The bleeding slowly started to stop as he placed pressure on her raw fingers and she reached over and grabbed her gloves. He knew what she intended to do and released her hands. She slid the gloves on and hoped that the padding in the fingers would keep her raw fingers safe from the cold. They fell into an awkward silence.

"What are they infected with?" he suddenly mumbled, though it seemed like he was asking himself and not her. "That didn't seem like the T-Virus. But it wasn't really like Las Plagas either. …They…they're not combing them, are they?"

That was directed at her. She looked at him and noticed that he was giving her a worried look. She knew what the combination of the two would cause. And unfortunately, instead of giving him a yes or no, she whispered, "I don't know." They held each other's eyes for what seemed like hours and she knew they were reaching that breaking point. Would they kiss, would they turn away in embarrassment, would they snap and start yelling like a married couple? She had to hope that it was the second one, though her body begged for it to be the first.

Suddenly his eyes lifted and focused on the door, his body tensing up next to hers. She listened as well, almost sighing that the moment was over, and her keen ears detected exactly what he'd heard. Voices. Three of them. Two female, one with a distinct accent, and a male.

The agent looked at her again and she looked back. As If connected by a telepathic link, a silent question passed between them, 'Do we check to see who it is?' Although she could tell from the way they were talking that they weren't the enemy, she shook her head and looked at their still damp clothes. The cold would tear them to pieces, especially after how warm the cabin was. They couldn't afford to go out there, not until their clothes dried. Besides, she wasn't always right. It could be the enemy.

"Who is it, then?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was staring at the door again, his eyes as curious as a young dog's when it found a bug that was evading its steady attacks. But there was still that deadliness in his eyes that proved that he was still the ever lethal agent.

"I don't recognize any of the voices. You?" she asked. He shook his head and she tensed up when she heard that the voices were getting closer. It sounded liked they were standing near the giant. "Great."

"Just be really quiet," he offered with a slight smile. She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile slightly. There was that sense of humor that she'd pretty much always loved. "Maybe they're like T-rexes. If we don't move, they won't notice us."

"Shut up," she whispered in response, a laugh threatening to spill out. She managed to bite it back though, knowing that they couldn't afford to give away their location. He grinned suddenly but said no more.

---

"Chris, they're not here. Maybe they went back to the Jeep and we just missed them. The lake's big enough. It's possible," Jill said softly as she followed the tall B.S.A.A. agent around. The giant, still frozen at their side, made her uneasy. Although she'd never fought the Ndesu of Africa, she'd seen what the monster could do to a person. And she didn't want to take the chance that it would suddenly choose to come to life and kill them.

"I have to find out what's going on, Jill," he said in response. She felt a slight anger bubble to life within her as a frown found its way onto her lips. It was happening again. Just like when he'd found out Wesker was actually alive.

"You're doing it again, Chris," she snapped, stopping. She crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the cold as it tried to get through her thick clothing. She really didn't like Alaska. Her short time in the huge state had proved to not be the greatest time in the world and it was just getting worse every time she turned around. "All you care about is solving this damned mystery. Look, if he's still alive, he'll come back to the city. If he's dead, he's dead and there's no changing that!"

"Whoa, what's going on?" Sheva asked, looking at the two as Jill's voice slid out of its soft tones and into a more furious snarl. The young woman had stayed in front of the giant, not wanting to walk on the slick ice anymore, especially since Jill and Chris stood next to the shattered ice around the giant which just made her more and more nervous. She knew that water as cold as the lake had to be could kill a person very quickly. She stared at them both from where she stood, her grey eyes wide with worry. They didn't need to start fighting.

"I'm not getting wrapped up in the mystery Jill. I just want to find him. What if he's hurt? Ever think of that?" he asked while turning around to face her. Both of them were obviously ignoring Sheva. The brunette glared at the man, her pale eyes threatening him. "Go home if you want. I'm staying. I'll look for a little longer. I'm not going to leave him out here to die. Nobody deserves that."

"Why do you care so much? He's a government agent who took this mission, knowing damn well what he was getting himself into! He's not like us! He wasn't forced to come up here." Jill suddenly stopped arguing and ran a hand through her hair quickly. She didn't understand why she was so upset that Chris wanted to help the agent. But something was bothering her. This entire mission was bothering her and she was starting to feel stress build up. Maybe the B.S.A.A. were right. Maybe she wasn't mentally sound and the mission was just making her mind that much worse.

"And if he didn't?" Chris suddenly asked, looking at the giant with a dark loathing. "What if he was forced up here? He fought Las Plagas. He knows the parasite. Nobody in their right mind would want to fight them again."

Sheva suddenly piped up again, calmly saying, "Look, why don't we just look a tiny bit longer and then we can leave. I agree with both of you. I think Chris is right in saying that nobody deserves to die out here. But I also think Jill is somewhat right in that…well…he's government. He knew what he was stepping into. And we can't be out here all day searching for him."

Chris turned away from both women, obviously not wanting to fight anymore, but Jill noticed the anger in his eyes. She sighed and lowered her gaze. There was no point in trying to convince him. He was going to do what he wanted. And while she wanted to get off of the lake, she wasn't about to leave Chris' side.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"Hey sheriff."

Frederick swiveled around in his chair, a little too fast, to face a doctor he somewhat recognized. Then, he realized that it was the doctor assigned to Lucia the dog woman. The man was eerily pale, almost sickly looking, and the sheriff wondered if something was wrong with him. Frederick himself wasn't feeling all that great, though that probably had something to do with the homeless man he'd shot earlier to help the B.S.A.A. agents. "Yeah?"

"Um… I don't know how to explain this but…"

A familiar face suddenly walked up and stopped next to the doctor. Rebecca Chambers, the sheriff realized. She looked haunted, her face pale and she licked her lips nervously. Frederick didn't like that. Not one bit. The Rebecca who'd analyzed Roderick was gone, suddenly replaced by a very scared looking woman.

"It's happening again…" she whispered, sounding distant. Her statement was almost cryptic and the way she said it was much like he would expect somebody who was on their deathbed to say something when they were trying to pass on a special secret. That only furthered his worry.

"What?" Frederick asked, standing up. He was getting close to his breaking point and he was almost willing to reach out and grab her shoulders, which would be followed by a quick shake.

It was the doctor who finally answered him. With a quaking voice, he whispered, "She came back to life."

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

"At least we know why they're here," Ada whispered. The blond man nodded his head and, because of that simple movement, she knew what they were going to have to do. Damp jackets or not, they had to speak to the people outside and get back to civilization before nightfall. They could survive but she wanted an actual doctor to examine Leon.

She moved quickly and grabbed the trash bin's lid from behind her and placed it over the fire, letting the windowless cabin fall into darkness. "Here, take your clothes," she ordered, passing him the thick uniform-like clothes. She hadn't made it dark to give him some privacy. After all, she'd seen him in much less than what he was wearing. She was doing it to help them prepare for the icy world that they were about to walk out into. Their bodies weren't used to walking from heat to cold in a matter of seconds.

As they dressed in silence and in the darkness, she thought about what they were about to do. On the off chance that this was some elaborate trick by their enemies, not only were they going to be slower thinks to their damp clothes, but only Ada had a gun. Leon's USP was lost in the lake, having fallen in before Leon had even been feared from the giant's grip. She'd noticed it slip through a crack in the ice when the giant first made its fatal mistake.

Ada zipped up her jacket and heard Leon do the same before he reached out and grabbed her arm. "You have your gun?" he asked gently. She started to nod before she realized he probably couldn't see her in the darkness, since she couldn't see him, and grabbed the gun from its position on her thigh holster. She pressed it to his hand and he mumbled an 'okay' before she turned towards the door with the gun hanging in her right hand, where her index and middle fingers gingerly rested against the metal. She didn't open it though.

"I think we should wait," she said softly. Something seemed off about all of this. And it wasn't because she thought they were enemies. Something was just wrong. She could almost feel it.

"For what?" he asked, his chest close to her back. The proximity to him was just intoxicating, threatening to break her, and from the way he took an awkward step back she guessed he was having the same problem.

Before she could respond to his question, a terrified scream filled the air followed by a cracking gunshot.

---

Chris, Sheva, and Jill looked towards the origin of the sound like a trio of hounds listening for the snapping of a branch thanks to a rabbit. Sheva stepped carefully closer to the train, wondering if the noise had come from the other side, when something went literally _flying _over their heads and smacked into the ice with a sickening noise, much like the noise of every bone in ones body snapping and popping at once. Sheva nearly gasped when she saw what it was.

It was a man. He was laying facedown on the ice with blood instantly surrounding him in a bright puddle against the white ground. His right leg was bent the wrong way at the knee and Sheva noticed the small white _thing_ protruding from the thick pants. Bone no doubt. Chris stepped closer to it, his hand looming near his leg where his gun usually was, when a second gunshot pierced the air. This sound was followed by another human scream but this one was out of pain instead of fear like the first had been.

"What the hell…?" Chris started to growl. However, his mostly calm voice was filled with slight fear as well. Sheva felt like she was about to panic. The cold was suddenly getting to her, wrapping its fingers around her with a dangerous intent. She took three deep, steady breaths and she instantly started to calm down. She silently thanked Josh, one of her closest friends, for the calming technique.

Sheva slowly started to walk over to the man on the ice and made it to his broken leg when a cold voice said, "He's quite dead. No point in bothering him now."

The three B.S.A.A. agents turned their attention to a set of people walking onto the ice. Both were in all black gear and they looked like they knew what they were doing. One was a woman, her face bearing Asian traits but she had strikingly green eyes, and the other was a blond man with remarkably blue eyes who was quite attractive. Chris' eyes landed on the man and immediately Sheva knew that they'd found Kennedy. The tall man looked quietly at the body before looking out over the ice, his eyes seemingly staring through the train.

"What can throw a man through the air like that?" he carefully asked, his voice low and calm. Sheva doubted she'd ever met a person that seemed as calm as he did. Even Chris wasn't as calm as him. This was a true Secret Service agent, she knew. Makerson was, quite obviously now, a fake. "The giant's quite dead… The lickers aren't strong enough from what I remember, even with their steroids... And they seem to be staying on the train anyway."

"Another giant, perhaps?" the woman questioned, her voice a low purr, and her eyes aimed in the same direction as the agent's. Both of them looked liked they expected something to come rushing at them. A third scream trembled through the air.

"Whoever that is needs help," Jill said all of a sudden. Chris nodded in agreement, almost like he forgot that Kennedy was standing there, and they started to walk when the woman spoke again.

"I wouldn't if I were you. We had enough trouble taking on the giant with our guns and plenty of luck. I doubt that whatever it is will be taken down by you three," she said coolly. She walked forward, past the dead body and towards the side of the lake where the vehicles were at, and the blond man started to follow like an obedient puppy. "We'd be smarter to alert the police."

"What? And get them all killed?" Sheva snapped angrily. She couldn't believe that they wanted to leave and let the police die in their place, even though she didn't think they'd die like the woman seemed to think. The agent suddenly looked at her and although his eyes seemed to basically dissect her, his face still lacking any major emotions. And somehow that was quite comforting. She guessed that it was because if he wasn't afraid, they really didn't have any reason to be afraid. However, the more sensible part of her disagreed completely.

"The Alaskan police are some of the toughest in the country. They have to deal with some of the worst crime rates known to America and they have to deal with their furry neighbors on a daily basis. At the moment, they have a likelier chance of surviving this than any of us," he said steadily. The woman turned around, unmistakable worry for the man in her eyes.

Sheva was about to disagree when the dead man before them started to groan.


	7. Chapter 7

No Leaf Clover

A/N: The huge italicized section of this chapter is a flashback. There won't be many flashbacks in this story but when they do happen, they'd be in italics. And since I've come to a point where "No Leaf Clover" is running out of lyrics, I'll be finding different quotes to use. (Bit of fun… There's a song title, though the tense of the words isn't the exact same, in this chapter. Can anybody find it?)

_Then it comes to be, yeah, yeah.  
__Then it comes to be, yeah, yeah._

---Outskirts of Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

A trio of bullets struck the newly awakened corpse in the skull, blowing chunks of gore out of the side of its head. The blond agent's boots were splattered faintly by the gore but luckily it had missed his clothes. He gave his partner a cold look and she simply winked in return. However, they were soon reminded that they had other people near them by a rather startled cry.

"What the hell?!" the brunette that Leon vaguely recognized snarled, giving Ada what had to be an attempt at a death look. The Eurasian beauty simply raised an eyebrow in response at the yelling before turning her attention to Leon.

"We need to get back to the city before we freeze to death," she said coolly, ignoring the other three people who gaped at her like she was a freak of nature. "And honestly now, you look at me as if I've done something appalling. The man was undead, you recognized the signs. Just because I acted instead of stared doesn't mean you should give me those looks of shock."

"He might've been…" the man, who Leon also somewhat recognized, started to say. And then he frowned deeply and seemed to remember that the man had smashed onto the ice with enough force to send ice chips flying. "Never mind…"

"Zombies?" the brunette whispered, suddenly changing from upset to uneasy, and stepped forward. The dead man didn't have part of his head and the ice was already creeping its way into his skull. There was no coming back from that. "That's not possible…"

"Well, it just happened so, sadly, it is," Ada said coldly before starting away for the Jeep. Leon followed after her, feeling the cold trying to sink its way into his jacket. He regretted walking outside. But they'd both walked out after the screaming sound because they didn't exactly need to be pinned down by some kind of monster in a defenseless little shack.

"Wait," the man called. Ada stopped and Leon realized he had to as well. He turned and looked at them, noticing that Ada moved a little closer to him. He imagined she was trying to get body heat. "You're Kennedy, a Secret Service agent right?"

Leon's immediate response was, "That's classified information." Ada laughed softly at his side, hardly making any noise. In fact, he guessed she was because her shoulder brushed his gently as she laughed. But he didn't care. Truth was, he'd basically been programmed to say that. A lot.

"I'm Chris Redfield of the B.S.A.A." Leon wanted to roll his eyes. The B.S.A.A. were a joke in the Secret Service's eyes. "We were sent here by a man who said he was Secret Service and… Well, he said we were the only ones capable of doing this." The blond man frowned deeply, suddenly serious. But the cold was slowly numbing his fingers.

"We have to go back to the city," Ada softly mumbled to her comrade. Then, to the group, she said in a startlingly emotionless voice, "Let's go back to Leon's hotel. We can all talk there."

---Fairbanks, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Will leaned his back against the cold steel of the morgue door, trying to regain his breath after running. His mind was slowly trying to work, trying to explain exactly what he'd just seen in there. But even his mind, so typically calm and logical, didn't have an explanation for what he'd just seen.

"Will, what's wrong?" a doctor asked as he walked down the stairs. He'd never seen doctors coming to the morgue unless they had something they wanted to explain to the loved ones, such as whether what the family member had died by was contagious or not. "See something? I know the morgue can get pretty spooky."

That's when Will realized this doctor didn't have an ID and wasn't somebody he recognized. And he recognized everybody. He was really good with faces, hence why he worked in the morgue. Fairbanks was a small enough city that, when somebody died, Will immediately knew who to call and tell. But this doctor…

"Uh…yeah…I'm just going to call the police," he started to say. The doctor smiled stiffly and shook his head. "Um…what?"

"You can't call the police into this Will. That just…can't be allowed I'm afraid. Because calling them in will get that damned government lapdog pulled in and then everything's screwed up. Later maybe. But not at the moment. At the moment…we need to walk in there, keep calm, and simply see what's going on."

"I..I don't…" Will stammered, finding himself incapable of forming a sentence. The doctor turned him around, opened the door, and pushed him into the room. Before he truly looked at the room, Will turned, expecting the doctor to follow but the huge door slammed close in his face. He swallowed and turned around again, his eyes landing on the huge puddle of blood on the far end of the room. The woman's innards were in the hands of the man and in his mouth as well. The undead man looked up from his feast on his cousin, intestines dangling from his gory jaws, and looked curiously at Will.

Will didn't even think about screaming. And only one word went through his mind: Zombie.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Redfield and his two female companions said they'd get their own room at the hotel and let Leon and Ada have a few moments to relax. Ada didn't bother going home. She didn't really want to take the chance of something going on while she wasn't with Leon. Especially with that thing out there throwing people.

Speaking of which, they'd all agreed to not bother with it while they were walking back to their vehicles. Whether it was causing zombies or not, the nightly freeze would surely kill it. And if it didn't, well, Leon had some nice guns that could surely inflict some damage. They could handle it when they were all in warm, thick, safe clothing.

Ada was sitting on the couch near the balcony, a cream colored thing that was quite soft, when Leon walked out of the bathroom in new clothes. His gloves were off but his clothes were otherwise the same; black cargo pants, black long sleeved shirt, black boots. She knew that people would soon be thinking that they didn't have anything other than black clothing. And that was somewhat true. She too had changed her clothes and was also wearing basically the same thing. Except her shirt was a turtleneck sweater and she wore a blood red tank top under it. As if by habit, she had to have red on her somewhere.

"Okay, so next time we go anywhere, we at least bring the shotgun and the Desert Eagle," he said, motioning to the duffle bag of weapons she'd pulled out. The M107 had caught her attention just as easily as it had caught his. The rifle was legendary in its power and she knew it had amazing range. It was any sniper's wet dream really. And it was a beauty. Solid black, no scratches or dents, a glossy scope, and shiny bullets that seemed to glitter.

Ada snapped herself out of her thoughts and looked at Leon, who had a triumphant smirk on his lips. He'd noticed the vacant, and dreamy, look in her eyes. "Okay, it's a nice gun," she said, shaking her head. She'd refused to agree that the M107 was more than a very nice gun. She was too prideful to let herself agree with a man who wasn't very fond of sniper rifles. He was more into shotguns or pistols. But that rifle was…

A knock at the door caught their attention and Leon said, "It's open." The three people filed into the room and stood awkwardly before the agent and the woman. Ada felt like they were a bunch of teenagers at a dance, trying to get the courage to talk to each other. "Okay… Perhaps introductions are in store," Leon continued, trying to break the silence. "I'm Leon Kennedy and this is Ada Wong." She nodded respectfully at them.

"Um…Right," Chris said. "As I said, I'm Chris of the B.S.A.A. This is Jill Valentine and Sheva Alomar, who are also of the B.S.A.A. We were basically kidnapped and taken into an unknown location and when we were introduced to one of our captors, he introduced himself as Makerson of the Secret Service."

Leon seemed uninterested, unlike earlier, and somberly stated, "There's no Makerson of the Secret Service. It was a trap." Ada wondered if his somber attitude was simply because he didn't want to look like he was at all interested.

"We know that," Jill suddenly said. Ada looked over at the woman and wondered if she should mention Valentine's stay with Wesker. But she kept her mouth closed. She didn't want to start something. Especially not when Leon was still somewhat sluggish thanks to the cold and her fingers were beginning to throb angrily. "We were wondering if you have any idea as to who he is. And what's going on up here, too."

"The first thing, I couldn't tell you if I knew. I'm Secret Service. We have a tendency to be, oh…I don't know…secretive? And the second thing, again, I can't tell you. It's my mission. I'm not allowed to give out any details to people who are not my superiors," Leon replied coldly. Ada was startled at his sudden cruel attitude. Then again, she saw the looks that both Valentine and Redfield had given him. They looked at him like he was some incompetent kid, no doubt basing such off of his looks. Like everybody did.

"Makes sense," the third B.S.A.A. agent said with a thick accent. Alomar looked to be of African decent and had steady grey eyes. Ada didn't know very much about her, which made the Eurasian woman quite uncomfortable. But Alomar was the only one of the trio who wasn't giving Leon a "you're just some incompetent brat" look. Ada guessed Alomar was in her early twenties and, since Leon was 31, it made sense that she wasn't giving Leon dark looks. "Though…this will probably sound forward of me but…I think we should all work together. I know we're not the same group of people on either side, one being B.S.A.A. and the other Secret Service," she started. Ada cast Leon a look. "But we should work together, if only to save Alaska. I've seen what Las Plagas can do. And nobody deserves that."

The idea settled into the heads of the other four and Ada looked at Leon again. What was his opinion? He was Secret Service. She was the one who didn't really belong. It was his choice, not hers. So, he had to decide. She was willing to follow his lead.

"Can you give us a minute alone?" Leon finally asked. The three B.S.A.A. agents nodded calmly and left. They were apparently assured that Leon and Ada would be joining forces with them. As soon as the door was closed, Leon softly asked, "Do we take the chance of working with them?"

"We could always send them elsewhere in the state while we continued on with our investigation of the islands," she offered. He nodded though she could see from the look on his face that he didn't think that was the greatest idea in the world. But he didn't disagree. Maybe he'd just forgotten that they were going to the Aleutians now that the train had been discovered.

"Hey guys, we're going to go get something to eat. We'll be back in like…half an hour or so," Chris unexpectedly said through the door. Ada guessed they'd been discussing the idea of food on the way over. And as their footsteps faded down the hallway, Leon and Ada were left alone.

---Uliaga Island, Aleutian Islands March 11th 2008---

The island was almost completely lifeless. It was one of the Aleutians that just wasn't designed for any living being to make itself a home on the island. Although people had once lived on it, and tourists still visited it, the island found itself lacking any major life forms. Except seabirds. Seabirds were willing to next on the island, like any of the other Aleutians. It also had a volcano.

The volcano hadn't erupted in a long time. Never in the history of man had this stratovolcano released its fury upon the world. The puffins and other seabirds of the island were very grateful. Lava just ruined the land until seeds were dropped upon its dried form. Besides, the smoke that volcanoes shot into the air was not exactly something any animal liked to breathe in.

This particular day, a female puffin made her way towards the volcano. She was hunting for good sticks and other things to place into her nest, since spring was slowly making its way into the Aleutians. She spotted a tuft of moss on a rock and started for it. Right as her beak touched it, the island seemed to shake. Cries of surprise escaped the other puffins of the island and she herself squawked angrily. As the rumble died away, she bent down to get some moss again, but the island shook with even more ferocity.

As the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, the puffins shot into the air, their wings flapping wildly. They fled from the island and its violent quaking. But the female, still searching for something to line her nest with, continued to peck at the moss. The bird's migrations had been ruined thanks to Alaska's oddly lengthy winter. And she wasn't about to miss the chance to nest.

Something shot out of the volcano and the female finally took off into the air. Her instincts to breed weren't nearly as powerful as her instincts to remain alive. So, she flew away from the island in a panic.

Had she looked back, she would've seen that a seabird was what had shot from the volcano but it was easily the size of a small plane and its eyes seemed to glow an eerie red. And it was very hungry.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Leon walked over to the desk the laptop sat on and nearly collapsed into the chair. For somebody who'd passed out for a couple hours, he sure was tired. He leaned backwards in the chair and ran his hands over his face tiredly. But he was aware of the awkward silence that had filled the room. He dropped his hands and looked at Ada inquisitively.

She sat cross legged and had a distant look to her eyes. A couple strands of her short, raven colored hair fell into her face and she'd distantly reach up and brush them away every few minutes, something he felt himself wanting to do. He shook his head and noticed that it almost looked like she didn't know exactly where she was.

And suddenly, he had the impulse to say something he'd been meaning to say for a year. And he really wanted to say it to her but he couldn't. Well, he could. He just didn't want to-

"I'm sorry," he finally said, ignoring the side of him that tried to force him to remain distant and emotionless. She looked at him, her eyes widened with confusion, and he lowered his gaze. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have left."

And then the memory came rushing back with every bit of intensive ferocity that he'd remembered it had occurred in real life. He felt like he was suddenly walking to the hotel that had reported a gunshot from nearby, checking it out for a fellow officer of the law. He almost felt like he was talking to the manager and managed to overhear a couple of hotel workers talking about a 'really hot Asian' behind him. He could feel his heart speed up and he could hear his own voice as he asked what she looked like, exactly. He could hear them describe her, an Asian woman with green eyes and short black hair and a red dress. He could feel his mind let order him to find her. And he had. He had.

_He'd finally succeeded where he'd always failed. He'd finally caught up to the woman who'd avoided him for years. He'd finally won. And yet, he didn't feel like he'd won. He felt like he always did, like a failure. Like nothing. Nothing seemed to have been accomplished. He'd hunted after her for years. And now that he had her…there was no pride, no happiness, just nothing._

_"I'm glad my presence makes you so depressed," she purred as she walked over, a crimson gown sliding over her curves. The silky gown was just like the one she wore to Spain but it had no butterflies. And it just made her that much more attractive somehow, even though that seemed impossible. He had to force himself, like always, to keep his eyes on hers. This never-ending dance needed an ending. She stopped walking right in front of him, the dress swishing around her ankles almost like it was begging him to do something with it. With her._

_"I expected you to put up more of a fight, honestly," he replied, his voice sounding distant. She was standing about two feet away from him, her sudden proximity making him swallow. He could smell the light perfume on her skin and clothes and he also could smell some kind of flowery shampoo. _

_"Isn't it a good thing I didn't? You wouldn't have caught me if I had. Come on. You finally won. Bask in the glory. You caught the evil assassin," she said, her pale emerald eyes scanning his face. He could feel her eyes pulling him apart. He imagined she was looking into his very being, looking for the things that were holding him back from shooting her, from handing her over to the government, from doing anything._

_"Then why don't I feel like I've won?" he asked finally, letting her know what was bothering him with that simple sentence. Her eyes darkened with something he didn't really recognize from her. She stepped forward and, her hands gently resting on his chest, kissed him._

_To say he was startled was an understatement. He was more than startled. But after nine years of wondering what it would be like to kiss her again, he didn't really care. He instantly wrapped him arms around her and basically crushed her to his chest. Her hands gripped at his shoulders, her fingernails barely meeting his skin through the thick leather jacket. At first, the kiss was just a kiss, lips on lips. But soon primal instincts started to break loose of their ever constant grips on the agent and the assassin and the kiss became more fervent, more needing._

_Her hands slid over his shoulders, her fingernails scratching over his back. She broke the kiss suddenly, instead kissing along his jaw line and then her voice, close to his left ear, whispered, "Do what you want."_

_Any man, or woman really, would've loved to hear those words from somebody. And he was really no exception. And those old needs of any human being suddenly kicked in, reminding him that not only was this a woman but this was a woman he'd been silently hunting for, pining after, for nine years. Those words were, to him, like candy to a child; irresistible._

_Somehow, they'd made it to the bedroom even though they were entangled in each other's arms. And nothing else existed. They weren't in some hotel. He wasn't here because of a gunshot. Nothing else mattered._

Ada wasn't looking at him. She stared at the hotel room, leaving him completely to his thoughts. He could only imagine what she was thinking about. Probably had something to do with him and his cruelty towards her that night. She looked so distant…

He'd rarely ever lost control of himself like that. He'd practiced, for so long, on keeping himself completely stoic unless the opportunity allowed for a break in the stoicism. The opportunity hadn't allowed for it. But he'd not paid any heed to such. He was, after all, just a man. He'd been caught up in the old primal needs of any human, as had she apparently. Because the morning after…

_He couldn't sleep. Even though it felt perfectly normal, perfectly right, for her to lay up against him, something was off. And he knew what it was. He wasn't feeling detached. With just about every woman he'd been with, he felt eerily empty around them. There was nothing in him. He didn't feel anything for them, not even for Angela Miller. But this…this was completely different. He felt like she belonged there, sleeping against him. He felt like her hand belonged where it was, resting on his chest right above his heart. He felt like her soft breath against his chest was perfectly normal, like her black hair tickling his throat every time he breathed was absolutely right. _

_And that's when realization hit him. For nine years, almost a decade, he'd been denying that he felt any more than great respect for her. He did respect her. With everything in him. Even after she'd held a gun to his head, he respected her. But this feeling…the fact that her slumbering body seemed to _belong_ at his side, wasn't respect. _

_"I love her…" he whispered aloud. The words seemed foreign. When was the last time he'd said he loved anything? His mother, maybe. She'd died three years after Raccoon City in a nasty car accident. He'd started his stoicism training by that time, so although her death had hurt, it hadn't torn him to pieces. And that was terrible. But he'd gently mumbled that he loved her. This was different. This wasn't love sprung forth by a family connection. This was love…an emotion he'd been denying for nine years. He was in love with her. Always had been._

And that's why he left. He'd been afraid. So very afraid. He wasn't allowed to love her. But he did. Still did. At the time, he'd feared that she would wake up and he wouldn't want to leave. And he couldn't let that happen. They had to go their separate ways.

"Don't be," she suddenly said, snapping him back into reality. He almost thought he was going to blush, thinking about what had happened. She looked over at him and he guessed that, although it felt like an eternity had passed, only a minute or so truly had. "It doesn't really matter, now does it?"

"Ada…" he said gently, looking at her. She shrugged gently but as soon as she stood, so did he. "You have every right to hate me… And you should. I deserve it."

"I don't hate you," she said emptily. He stared at her. "There's nothing to hate about you. If I was you, I would've left too. That's the smart thing to do, after all." She started towards the bathroom, possibly wanting to be alone. But he didn't want to let her go. Not again.

He wanted to say that it wasn't the smart thing to do, just to stop her. But instead of saying anything, he walked over to her and grabbed her forearm. She turned to face him, her green eyes flashing with something akin to anger. So, he did the one thing he could think of. He kissed her.

And then somebody knocked at the door.

The couple split apart and Leon ducked his head down in shame as the B.S.A.A. walked in. If they noticed anything off about the two, like Leon hiding behind his ash blond hair or Ada's shocked face, they didn't say anything.

Instead, Chris said, "You guys can have some if you want."

---Buldir Island, Aleutian Islands March 11th 2008---

The island of Buldir was a sorely desolate chunk of land, having rarely seen the bodies of more than just sea birds that found themselves at home there. The only major activity the islands saw were the two volcanoes which, every now and then, had a sputter of smoke escape them but not much more. They were, in all honestly, long overdue for an eruption.

However, the island saw another interesting movement of life. A Red-legged Kittiwake was making its way along the northern beach of the island, one of its wings dragged limply beside it. The bird was obviously in pain but, like most animals, it was wiling to fight until the bitter end. This particular bird, one of the gull family, had been injured during a nasty storm that had struck Buldir the night before. He'd been knocked out of the air while he was attempting to make his way back to his home and had smacked into the ground. His ever fragile wing had absorbed most of the impact, leaving the bird flightless. However, Buldir was susceptible to small pools of water, with trapped fish within them where he could feed until his wing was healthy again.

He made his way slowly down the beach, walking on legs not quite designed for walking. His eyes, big circles of brown that were stark contrasts with his white head, searched the beach for any predators. Other seabirds would, no doubt, jump at the chance of finished off an injured bird dragging its way across the beach.

Suddenly, a vicious tremor rumbled through the island, making the bird squawk angrily. As an animal, he knew what the rumbling of a volcano felt like, and this was not a volcano. No, this felt something odd. And as a bird not accustomed to humans, which lived far away from Buldir, he didn't even fathom the idea of something man-made wrecked havoc beneath his feet.

The tremor died away and faded from the bird's mind and he continued to his pool of fish. However, he stopped suddenly as a sound pierced the air that sent his avian brethren into the sky. It sounded, to him, like an odd animal roaring in hunger. But the roar wasn't natural and it sounded even more primal than the hunters the bird had come into contact with. He cocked his head curiously but, like the tremble, the roar faded away and he continued onto his fishing hole.

What did he have to care, after all, if something was going on under the island? He had his fish. That was all that mattered.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 11th 2008---

Leon stood on the balcony, overlooking Anchorage. The city seemed quieter than ever before and that somewhat worried him. That meant that the parasite was doing its job and was successfully tearing Anchorage up from its roots. The lights of the city were as bright as ever but the streets were even more vacant than ever.

Somebody stepped out on to the balcony and broke the agent from his thoughts. He glanced over and spotted dark, spiky hair and a large build. Redfield. The older man nodded at him respectfully enough and Leon returned the nod lazily but neither man spoke. Chris and the other two women would be returning to their room in about half an hour.

They'd all just agreed to stay in one room for a little while. Why, Leon wasn't certain. All he knew was the B.S.A.A. hadn't spoken to him or Ada very much. And since he and Ada weren't really speaking to each other because of the day's events, they'd all just remained mostly silent. Leon had attempted to look through more of the Umbrella files, glad that the B.S.A.A. hadn't bothering him about the files. Leon had found that there were three files he couldn't really open.

Chris pulled out a pack of cigarettes, gently smacking them into his hand a couple times, before pulling one out. "I know you won't but…just to be careful… Don't tell Jill I'm smoking, okay?" he asked, glancing at Leon. The agent looked over at him curiously, vaguely wondering why Chris thought he would rat him out. "She…she hates that I smoke. Says it's going to slowly kill me. And I know they are but… How am I supposed to care anymore?"

"I won't say a thing," Leon replied calmly. That's when the B.S.A.A. agent realized he was speaking to another person and offered Leon a cigarette. Against his better judgment, the agent took one. He hadn't smoked in three and a half years, having given up the nasty habit after Angela broke up with him. Though he'd never been a heavy smoker, he'd used the tobacco to calm himself. He'd rarely smoked an entire pack by the time a year had passed but he'd still smoked nonetheless. However, he hadn't wanted to turn to cigarettes after Angela broke up with him. He didn't want to fall back into old habits. Now, he was just smoking because he could.

After he lit his own, Chris offered Leon his lighter and took a deep drag off the cigarette as Leon lighted his own. The blond returned the lighter as he breathed in his own cigarette smoke, inhaling the thick smoke easily, and looked back out over Anchorage as he exhaled it. A gentle breeze brushed over them, carrying with it a cold that could make dogs shiver. It was just so weird, this cold being around during March. It didn't belong.

"So, what do you think is going on?" Chris asked suddenly. "Or is that too confidential?" He took another drag off of the cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of black-grey smoke.

Leon shrugged, wondering about everything himself. A giant on the ice, a crashed train with lickers, an island with a base, and God knows what else. What was going on? Was it terrorists? Was it just bad luck? Or was it something completely different?

"I can't believe I told everybody it's over…all this bioterrorism shit," Chris mumbled suddenly. As he took another drag off his cigarette, the smoke warming his body slightly, Leon glanced over at him almost wanting to ask if Chris planned on talking all night. He'd come out here looking for silence, somewhere he could escape his memories and the kiss he and Ada had shared. But then curiosity got the better of the agent and he remained silent, breathing out the smoke quietly. "I mean… I expected Wesker's death to mark the end of it all."

What? Wesker's dead? Leon blinked and returned his gaze to the city. That was definitely new. It must've happened recently otherwise it would've been all over the news or all throughout the government. The men and women in there were bigger gossipers than anybody. Which was funny really. They were the ones who enforced no confidential shit being released to the media and yet that was all they talked about.

"That's understandable, right? I mean, the guy who basically did all of this shit from the beginning is dead and it should end," Chris said and though he'd asked a question, he hadn't seemed to be directing it at Leon. He was mostly talking to himself, the agent guessed. But he was still talking. And their cigarettes were about halfway gone. Chris only had so much longer before Leon would go back inside.

"Technically, it all should've ended with Spencer dying," Leon disagreed, blowing out smoke as he spoke. Spencer, the man behind it all, was the last of the three to start the viral research. He'd caused tensions, he'd betrayed his friends, and in the end he'd paid the price. And Leon was one of the few to actually read the reports about what had happened to Spencer. Wesker had, according to Chris, shoved his fist through Spencer's chest. That was one dead man.

"Yeah, I guess," Chris admitted. Both men simultaneously took a drag off their cigarettes, which silently bothered the agent. As Leon exhaled the smoke, he noticed that Chris had a distant look on his face. "Maybe one of them…Spencer or Wesker…is still alive."

"Spencer was a human. His body is six feet deep," Leon said. He'd read the autopsy reports. He'd read everything about Spencer. "And if Wesker's dead…it couldn't have been a pleasant way to go."

"Lava and RPGs," Chris explained, glancing over at Leon. "And the autopsy report?"

"Old man, human, dying of lung failure from cancer apparently," Leon repeated, almost seeing the report in front of him. "There was nothing significant about Spencer. And I'm sorry to break it to you, but even Wesker and his super virus can't survive lava. It can melt the skin off of somebody standing close to it, let alone somebody taking a bath in it. The man's dead."

"Yeah… I'm just… I kinda feel useless. For so long, I hunted after Wesker, doing everything I could to stop him. And now he's dead. Gone. Nothing." Leon dared not compare Chris' obsession over Wesker to his own obsession over Ada.

"Dust in the wind," Leon grumbled. That, unexpectedly, got a laugh out of Chris. Then even the agent's stoicism had to break and he too chuckled. Stupid shit. But calming.

"So, is it true that Ashley Graham got kidnapped and she was the reason you fought Las Plagas?" Chris asked. Damn the government and their big mouths.

"Confidential."

"Damn… Let's see… Whose your girlfriend? We have her name but…"

Leon paused. Girlfriend? Hardly. She should hate him. Especially after that kiss, that made no sense. But, because he was just as lost about Ada as anybody was, he just shrugged and said, "Confidential."

"Is everything confidential?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that was confidential too?"

Chris laughed again and Leon put his cigarette out in the ashtray next to him that he'd barely noticed. He'd reek of smoke and God knew how Ada would react, if she reacted, and he wondered why he cared. He started back for the door. Before he made it to the door, he calmly said, "Next time you want to just…you know…talk, get one of the girls."

Chris laughed again and said, "Will do."

---Washington D.C., March 11th 2008---

Ashley had seen Secret Service in action before. She'd seen Leon when he'd courageously taken on an entire village and more to protect her, when he'd performed things that no man should be able to, when he'd proven his ability with a gun. But she'd also seen her father's personal Secret Service body guards in action. They were even scarier than the field agents. Because they didn't look like they could do anything. Until they did. And after they did, you never wanted to make a single move around them again. Ever.

So, with Behemoth standing there and snarling and Ashley tense and frightful, the Secret Service did their jobs. One of them, a big blond with an emotionless face, smashed into her mother with enough force to take the small woman down. They crashed into the ground but immediately the orange eyed woman was scratching at the agent's face. He rolled off of her and as soon as she was on her feet, another agent lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. She attempted to bash his face with the back of her head but he calmly moved his head out of the way. Another agent moved forward and carefully plunged a needle into her neck and injected some unknown substance into her. She immediately fell silent and stopped struggling.

Ashley heard Behemoth's snarls fall away and an agent carefully stepped towards her. She vaguely heard him asking if she was okay and she tried to nod but before she could, she felt the world spin and swirl and then it all faded into blackness.

---Anchorage, Alaska March 12th 2008---

Chris knocked on the door early that morning, waking both man and woman from their sleep immediately. Leon had taken the couch and Ada had slept in the bed and they'd both slept in their clothes instead of changing into something more comfortable. However, it was Ada who groggily answered the door and let the B.S.A.A. agent in. From the look on his face, Ada guessed nothing good was happening.

"We were going to get something to eat, again, when the sheriff caught up to us. He wanted to talk to you," Chris said, looking at Leon as he slowly walked over to the door. Apparently the couch was not a comfortable bed. Leon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "He wanted to know what can bring dead people back to life?"

Ada froze and, although she really wanted Chris to leave so she and Leon could be alone to just talk, the T-Virus being in Alaska was very bad. She knew Leon was just as tense as she was, if not more. This was his mission and it was getting worse and worse as time passed. "The T-Virus?" she asked, looking at Chris.

"Looks like it. We told the sheriff that we'd be down at the morgue, where Lucia the dog woman is, soon."

"Lucia the dog woman?" Ada asked. But then she remembered the frozen corpse with the parasite latched to her throat. She'd owned dogs, the dogs who'd been petrified with fear. "She's a zombie?"

"According to the doctor who checked the corpses this morning she was trying to escape from her ice prison. Luckily, the morgue stays cold enough that she's not going anywhere any time soon," Jill said as she and Sheva walked in. Ada wondered if they thought this was now their new home and they could just walk in and out as they pleased.

"So…" Leon started, his deep voice steady and calm. But Ada heard the underlying tones of worry and distress. "We've got Las Plagas and the T-Virus."

"Yeah, what next?" Chris laughed bitterly. "The T-Veronica? The Progenitor? Hell, Uroboros?" Both Leon and Ada gave Chris a confused look at that last name. Ada recognized it vaguely but she wasn't exactly sure where it came from. "You guys don't… Well, it did just happen…" Chris mumbled.

"Uroboros is…was Wesker's new virus. It was based off of Las Plagas, I believe, and…something else," Sheva said, glancing warily at Jill. The older woman looked away, which made Ada unconsciously let her right hand fall to her empty holster. The gun was lying under the bed's pillow, since a gun on the leg was not very comfortable. Gun or not though, its presence near her hand comforted her. "It…it basically either makes you extremely powerful like Wesker or it tears you to pieces and makes you into a terrible monster."

"Joy," Leon said stiffly. And then he suddenly walked over to the laptop, his boots thunking gently against the floor as he walked. "Look, I think you guys should go and help the sheriff out. He might need some help around the city. We're going to…check around the Aleutian Islands." He sat down and immediately started up the Umbrella program. Ada had noticed he'd been on it the day before, trying to do something. She wondered what it was.

"Where'd you get that?" Chris asked, glaring at the laptop with an uncontrolled hatred. Ada shot him a look that she hoped conveyed her emotions.

"I stole it from Tricell," she said stiffly. He didn't ask any further questions. Apparently, he was learning that the blond man and the black haired woman weren't going to be telling them anything and they were just going to have to stick with what little they did get. "Now, run along and help the sheriff. Let the big kids talk." The B.S.A.A. all shot her dark looks, even Sheva, but the Eurasian woman coldly stared right back. Nothing scared her. Especially not a bunch of wannabe soldiers.

After the three left, their shoulders hunched in a dejected way, she walked over to Leon and laid a hand on his shoulder. That alone seemed to convey her confusion as to what he was doing. Even though the incidents of the day before still confused her, they had to solve this problem and _then_ they could deal with their problems, even though she really wanted to just ask why he'd kissed her. "I can't get three files open. We don't even know which island this is either."

"Remember that list I told you about?" she asked. He nodded. "I remember reading that Buldir is the most likely place. We can check that one out first. It would seem the most likely." He didn't ask why it was the most likely but he did continue to try and open the files. Always the stubborn man, she thought. "Let me try," she ordered.

She leaned over her shoulders, her arms on either side of his head and her chin resting atop his head too, and she quickly tried to open the files with a couple of orders she'd learned from her years 'working' for Wesker. Then, when that didn't work, she clicked on something that said 'enter access password' near the bottom of the screen and started trying out passwords, most of which were about viruses. Again, things she'd learned through her years of 'working' for Wesker.

"Try… Try Attu and Atka," he said. She cocked her head in confusion but typed the two words in. immediately, a bright sign flashed up that said 'Access Granted' and the three files opened up as separate windows on the task bar. He laughed gently, almost bitterly.

"How did you…?" she started.

"I saw pictures of Attu and Atka in other files. They had big X's on them so I guessed they weren't likely spots. But why not use them as a password, you know?" She nodded. He clicked on the first window.

It was about somebody named Steve Burnside. There were two pictures of him, one that seemed to be from long ago as the person in the photo with red hair was much younger than the picture of the man in the stasis tube. Leon vaguely mumbled that he'd seen the picture of the man in the stasis tube already. Ada herself recognized the name but she wasn't quite certain where she'd heard it from. And she didn't really care either. But that's when she noticed something on his stats. One of them was called "Viral Infection" and next to it was "T-Veronica."

"Shit… He's a bioweapon?" Leon asked. She nodded quietly. She knew where she'd heard of him from. He was another human Wesker had managed to grab. From an incident that Chris Redfield had survived, Rockfort Island.

He carefully clicked on the next window and Ada immediately felt a chill come to her. It was Uroboros. Unlike the last file, there weren't any pictures, just stats. But those stats worried her more than any picture could ever do. And as she stared at the stats, she felt a dark curiosity bubble to life within her. How did Wesker's virus get to Alaska if he was working on it in Africa? Or had he started research up in Alaska? Then again, that was just guessing that he'd done most of Uroboros research in Africa, since that was where he'd spent the last couple years from what she could remember. She didn't know, or care really, how he got it up there. The file meant that their mission was dangerous, especially if it was as nasty as Ada guessed it was.

"That's not good," he mumbled. She nodded again, finding herself incapable of speech. "How the hell did he…" Leon's sentence trailed off and he simply shook his head. When he spoke next, his voice sounded like he was trying to reassure himself and not her. "Maybe he just had information up here. I mean…he was using Umbrella computers. Maybe he just had information…yeah…"

He finally clicked on the next file and this one was rather blank. There wasn't a name or any pictures, not immediately at least, and the stats were rather dull. The stats simply showed that the person, Specimen B it said, was a female of 22 years. Then, Ada noticed there was a picture available, one that Leon hadn't apparently noticed. She reached over and touched the touchpad of the laptop. She guided the mouse to the picture link and opened it.

Leon nearly jumped up and probably would've had Ada not noticed the sudden movement and slammed her hands onto his shoulders. The desk chair nearly hit her from the sudden movement. She looked at the picture, confused at his reaction. The woman, a young thing with long blonde hair that seemed to float around her face eerily, was in a stasis tube like Burnside. Her eyes were shut, her pale golden eyelashes hardly visible against her extremely pale skin. She didn't seem to be anything special. But Leon obviously recognized her. And that was confusing.

"Leon?" she asked.

But instead of responding, he stared at the computer screen and gently mumbled, "Sherry…"


End file.
